The Force Divided: Act I: Dissonance
by Vek Talis
Summary: Vek Talis is awakened after a long sleep to find a very different galaxy. Though the Jedi and Sith have returned, are things the same as they ever were?
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Force Divided: Act I: Dissonance

Author: Vek Talis

Characters: Mostly OCS except HK-47 and T3 (from KotOR) & 2 Force ghosts

Genre: Action/Drama/Light Humor/Mystery

Timeframe: 1,333 years ABY

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars and never will.

Inky blackness, dotted with tiny pinpoints of light, swirled around him. The flecks of light danced and sparkled, disappearing and reappearing at random. Above himself, he watched his own body, the soft, regular breaths, the slow pulsing of his heart, the rhythms of blood trailing casually through his veins.

Time was a construct of man. Or so they said. It mattered little in his silent meditations. With no thoughts plaguing him, he felt he could have stayed there for eternity. Of course, eternity seemed the bane of his existence.

Soft, at first, then sharper beeping began to seep into his subconscious as he watched himself float in a sea of shadow. Incessantly, the beeping grew louder and more shrill. He could have continued to ignore it indefinitely, but by his very nature, he knew he had to answer it.

"What is it now?" Slowly, his eyes opened. Even in the darkness shrouding the inside of his ship, he had to blink several times to get them used to how much light there was.

"You'd think the cosmos could go a few centuries without needing me around, holding its hand." He punched a button and the beeping stopped. It wasn't an alarm clock, per se.

"Good of you to awaken, hmm."

"I-it's cold, Yoda." Vek began to shiver as the veil of sleep began to lift from his eyes. Immediately, he pulled his robes tighter around his frame. He tried to start the _Ebon Hawk_ , but batteries weren't responding.

"Yes, cold, good. Wake you up, it should." The blue Force ghost still hobbled on his gimer stick. But he was also spry. Yoda hopped up on the console, stared at Vek.

"Twelve centuries have passed, and more, Vek," he said.

"Say what?" Vek replied absently. Though the batteries were definitely dead, he'd planned for this eventuality. A backup system, isolated from the rest, remained. Even though it, too, was dead, it needed far less power to get it started. Closing his eyes again, he touched the bare wires, using a spark from the Force to get the generator humming. It, in turn, began to reinitialize the batteries inside the _Hawk_.

Before long, the engines were thrumming and life-support – and better, heat – began flowing through the ducts.

"Now, what were you saying?" Vek asked the ghost.

"Twelve centuries, and more," Yoda said sternly. "For a very long time, asleep, you have been, Master Vek."

"Time flies when you're having fun," he replied.

Yoda glared. "Knock your shins, with my gimer stick, I would." Then, the former Grand Master of the Jedi sighed, down deep within his diminutive frame. "Arisen, the Sith have. And the Jedi." He seemed sad about it all.

"It's a never ending cycle," Vek said. Yoda had lived for nearly nine hundred years. He'd seen his fair share of cycles. Vek, on the other hand, had been here for fifty-five hundred years.

"We've both seen too many friends come and go," Vek added, at last feeling his extremities start to thaw.

"Too many, yes," Yoda replied. "And yet, calls, the Force does."

"I could have ignored it," Vek said, though Yoda shook his blue head slowly.

"No, you could not."

Vek's tongue clacked against the roof of his mouth and he blew out a thousand year's worth of peace. "You're right," he said quietly.

The _Ebon Hawk_ , by now had warmed up sufficiently to get them moving. "Where am I?" he wondered, having long since forgotten where he parked the ship. A few bleeps on the navicomputer and a map popped out into a full three dimensions.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Sernpidal." It was far enough away from prying eyes that he'd hoped to be away from the galaxy for the rest of his unnatural life. As a Frag – that is, people From Another Galaxy – he'd been told he would have a longer than average life span. If they'd been able to tell him he'd live for over five thousand years, he might have tried to take the easy way out. Like walk into a room with five hundred Sith masters.

A vision of the master he missed, flashed behind his eyes. Vizif, a Miraluka, was the person who discovered him here, in the GFFA. She'd been kind, taking him as her padawan even after the master in charge of her enclave wanted to forbid Vek from becoming a Jedi.

Quickly, he pushed her memory away. So many lifetimes had passed him by.

"Sernpidal," he said again. "The Tingel Arm." The _Hawk_ floated in a nebula. Pinks, purples and reds morphed together in cloud like formations. Kind of like the aurora borealis back on the Earth he wished he'd never been born on.

"Back, to the center of it all, you must go," Yoda said. His words snapped Vek out of a threatening malaise.

"I need information first, Master Yoda," he said. Beside him, an ancient astromech droid stood. "T3, I need your help," he said. The droid was as dead as the _Hawk_. Like the ship, he got the droid started with a burst of energy from the Force.

The droid bleeped and turned its cylindrical head a full rotation. When its visual receptors at last fixed on Vek, it beeped and whirred happily.

"I'm glad to see you, too, T3," Vek said. "Are you well? You have any maintenance issues?" When the droid bleeped 'no', he said, "All right, then. I need information on the Jedi and Sith. Current information."

When he tried to stand, he needed a second to will his muscles to start working again. "I feel old," he said, which was about the biggest understatement one could make. He'd been over seventy when he 'died' on Earth. He'd felt every minute of his existence then.

"While you work, T3, I'll wake up our other companion." Vek left the droid and Yoda in the cockpit. The joints in his knees and hips creaked and popped as he took those first few ginger steps.

"What a millennium of sitting on your ass will do," he grumbled, shaking his head as he walked. Even his neck made all kinds of noises as he stretched it.

Immediately beyond the cockpit was the speeder bay, with the ramp to depart the _Hawk_ behind him, adjacent to the cockpit. A bipedal droid stood against the far wall, its rusty colored chassis a subliminal warning that this wasn't your average droid.

Before he switched it on, however, a second blue figure walked into the bay. The newcomer stopped, stared, then glared at Vek.

"It's about time you awoke. Can you feel it?" He spread his arms, threw back his head. "The Sith are _strong_ again. You, my friend, could gather that strength to you, and rule the galaxy."

"All right, Sheev," Vek said. He wondered again why the Force chose to burden him with these two particular Force ghosts. Of all the friends he'd lost to enemies and old age over his unnatural life span, why did it have to be these two?

"Don't tell me you aren't tempted?" Palpatine stared, his yellow eyes looking whitish in the blue glow of his ghost. "Feel the _power_ surrounding you. It wouldn't take much to make you the strongest Sith in the galaxy."

"All right, all right," Vek said, holding a hand up, palm facing Palpatine. "I'm just trying to get my bearings first," he said. "I've been away for a long time."

"Yes, good," Palpatine said, elongating the words in his mouth. "You will think on this, good. Don't let that fool Yoda change your mind. I think you will see the merits of my words, in time."

"Fine," Vek said, just to get the former emperor to shut up. He flicked the starter switch on the other droid. It took a few seconds to warm up, then its wide head lifted from his chassis and it reached for its blaster rifle.

"Statement: HK-47 is ready to serve, Master." The droid scanned the speeder bay, rifle at the ready. "Query: Are there any meatbags you wish me to blast, Master? Observation: I see nothing but this sad, empty bay."

"HK, we've been asleep for twelve hundred years," Vek said.

"Observation: You have deprived me of more than one thousand years of meatbag blasting? Oh, Master, the cruelty of it all."

"Yes, he denies himself the pleasures of seeing his enemies beaten and broken before him," Sheev Palpatine said disapprovingly.

Of course, not having the Force, HK could neither see, nor hear Palpatine. It was better that way, Vek realized, or the droid and emperor would have bonded too well.

"I need to investigate the galaxy," Vek told HK. "There have likely been many changes the past millennium. Get yourself ready for action and I'll inform you of where we're going as soon as I know."

"Statement: This unit is always ready for action, Master."

"Wonderful." Vek knew HK could tell when he was being sarcastic. But he didn't care, either. He left the droid in the bay and returned to the cockpit.

Before he got there, however, his vision became cloudy and he nearly stumbled into the wall. Jungle foliage crowded around him, pressed against his every sense. Anger, intense and burning, oozed from every pore in a girl. Darkness and light warred within, tearing at her.

And then, the vision was gone.

Shaking his head, he walked into the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's seat.

"A vision, you saw, yes?"

"A girl," Vek said and Yoda raised an eyebrow. "Surrounded by darkness."

The Grand Master closed his eyes, concentrated. "Yes, a vision of the future, perhaps."

T3 bleeped and rotated its head to regard him. On the three dimensional map, three planets rose above the rest.

"Dantooine, Onderon and Coruscant," Vek said. "Is that where the Jedi are?" T3 bleeped confirmation. "What about the Sith?"

The faithful droid blooped again and the map changed. A small group of stars popped up, centering on a particular system.

"Korriban," Vek said, the taste in his mouth turning. "Why do the Sith continue to return to Korriban?" He punched a few buttons. "They've built themselves a small empire again. What about the Republic?"

T3 whirred and accessed data. Words appeared on the view screen.

"There is no Republic?" Vek was surprised, but only a little. "People have a hard time agreeing on much of anything. Especially with politicians around, sewing division."

Most of the systems of the known galaxy were independent. "That will make it easier for the Sith to expand," Vek said, then thought of Palpatine. The former emperor would no doubt find that encouraging.

"It reminds me of the way it was when I first came here," Vek said. "Except for the Republic not existing," he mused.

Turning to T3, he said, "We should get moving. Set course for Dantooine. Let's have a look at these new Jedi." Faithful as ever, T3 set course. The hyperdrive crackled to life. Vek sat in the pilot's seat, remembering old friends, long gone. The corners of his mouth turned down and he averted his gaze to the floorboards as the panorama of stars melded together, and the _Ebon Hawk_ slipped into hyperspace.


	2. Chapter 2

"Over here, father," Bryama called. "More cibi fruit." The enthusiastic teen climbed ever higher. Brambles and thorns and vines reached out, but never once did they bite.

"One day you're going to climb so high, we'll never get you down." Her father, Donter, chuckled while he spoke.

Cibi fruit rained down into the net Bryama's parents had hung. Cibis were fragile fruit. Once bruised, they quickly rotted. Their sweet flesh was highly nutritious... and dangerous.

"Be careful, dear," Briadan, Bryama's mother, said uneasily. "Donter, what are you doing?" Her voice snapped at her husband.

Glancing down, Bryama watched her father climb into the nearest Xekos tree. The best cibis hung higher. Fruit was the most economical thing in the jungle they could harvest. Besides that, there was always high demand for the tasty items.

On Sychos, a Sith world in the Outer Rim, Xekos trees grew at astonishing rates. They were voracious things, actually; they wrecked homes with overgrowth in days. You had to cut them daily, or else learn to live without comforts like shelter.

"Don't climb so high, dear," Briadan warned.

Bryama dropped a few more cibis down below. They floated gently downwards to safety in the net. Her family lived away from cities and towns, enjoying their privacy, though Bryama longed for a friend.

"There's a few more I want to get," her father said, stretching out to reach a cibi, just at his fingertips.

Without warning, a vine wrapped around his wrist. Xekos trees didn't just grow quickly. They could consume a man, if you were careless. At least partially sentient, the trees had a visage at once majestic and terrible.

"Donter!" Briadan screamed. The vine threw off his balance just enough. A gaping maw at the bottom of the Xekos he climbed seemed ready to take nourishment.

With eyes closed tightly, Bryama imagined her hands reaching out, grasping her father. Warm arms wrapped his body, easing his fall, moving him away from the Xekos.

Her mother's screams immediately died down. When Bryama opened her eyes, Donter stood firmly on the ground again, Briadan hugging him tightly. The corners of her mouth rose and she began the arduous climb to the jungle floor.

"Thank you, daughter," Donter said when she stood beside him. Though grateful, there was a tint of authority in his tone. "I hope your tricks won't be necessary out in public."

"Yes, curious." The unwelcome voice was harsh. "I thought I spied you in the tree, girl." Dressed in a tidy black and grey uniform, a Pau'an, surrounded by soldiers in Sith armor, appeared around moss covered detritus.

"Captain Blel," Donter said unhappily.

Captain Blel glanced from Donter to Bryama, smugness oozing from every pore of her body. "I received the results of your daughter's scans, Donter," she said. "For some reason, we now record that Bryama has nearly ten thousand midichlorians. Strange, that before, she had virtually none."

The Sithbait wasn't even looking at Bryama. How rude was it to speak about someone as if they weren't there? Her parents taught her better. But what was the Sith saying? She'd been asked to submit to a health scan in Sisysp, the nearest town, in anticipation of her fourteenth lifeday.

"You brought Bryama to them without my knowledge?" Donter glared at Briadan. His sigh was eternally sad; when Bryama saw his eyes, she saw his torment well up in a matter of moments.

"I didn't think it would cause trouble," Briadan said.

"On the contrary," Captain Blel said. "I must say congratulations. Bryama has qualified to become apprenticed to a master. You should be proud."

"Thank you. No," Donter said stonily.

"Wait, what?" Bryama asked. "A master? I don't understand." She'd been able to do little tricks for as long as she could remember. When she was very small, she would move her toys around without touching them.

For the first time, Captain Blel deigned to look at her. "You, child, have the Force." As quickly as it began, the officer returned to ignoring the girl. "You will, of course, be compensated for the loss of your child. Ten thousand credits will be deposited into your account, once-"

"I said, no." Donter was so vehement, the soldiers flinched toward their weapons. "My daughter is not for sale to the Sith."

"Why so cross, Major Fettfain?" Captain Blel asked airily.

"I'm not with the Sith anymore, Nil," Donter said in a half growl.

That was the first Bryama had ever heard of her father's past. As a girl, she often asked her parents what they did before they had her. Her father had always smiled and said "Before you, dear, nothing I did mattered." Maybe there was more to his story than she'd dreamed.

"This is awkward," Captain Blel said. She gathered up the soldiers with her eyes. For a moment, Bryama feared they would do something bad.

"We cannot force you to give up your daughter," the Sith said. "We're considerate of other beings." Donter snorted laughter and Blel fixed him with a glare that made Bryama shiver.

"If you change your minds, you can find me in Sisysp," Blel said and managed a toothy smile toward Bryama. Soldiers leading her, the officer strode away.

"I can't remember last time I saw you angry, Father," Bryama said.

As if a switch flipped inside him, he turned to her and smiled. All the fury and hate in his mien vanished when he looked at her. Then, in the next instant, his features went slack and he cast his eyes to the ground. "I suppose, now that the cat's out of the bag, I should apologize to you, daughter."

"To me?" Bryama took a step back, so shocking were his words.

Donter advanced, wrapping his arms around her. "My sweet girl. I tried to keep the Empire away from you. I should have known they'd find out sooner or later."

"She said I have the Force," Bryama whispered. "Can that even be true?" She could move things, yes. Minutes earlier, she'd saved her father from being eaten by the Xekos. But the Force?

Bryama wriggled out of his grasp, stepped back and eyed him. Then, her gaze shifted to her mother. "Why did you take me in for that scan?"

"We'd never had you to a doctor before, dear," Briadan said, warily looking at her husband. "I- I wanted to make sure you were healthy. I had no idea they would run a midichlorian count. Not when you're about to become fourteen. I meant well."

"It's all right," Donter said, moving close to touch Briadan's hand. "We'll have to deal with the here and now, is all. Let's get these cibi to market, before the jungle decides we've perished, standing around for so long, and tries to eat us again."

The net full of fruit fit easily in the back compartment of their speeder. Donter sat behind the controls, Briadan to his left. Bryama, as usual, was scrunched into the small rear seat where a droid would go, if the family owned one.

The market was near Sisysp; thankfully, they didn't have to enter the town. Droids and organics in chains worked. They cut branches, pulled vines and sheared thorns and brambles. Slaves and machines worked night and day in the towns and markets to keep the Xekos at bay.

They usually sold their fruit at a stall owned by a Toydarian; it was empty. It was too early in the day, but such was life. Bryama didn't give it much thought.

At the stall beside the empty one, stood a Squib. "What you want, humee?" it asked.

"We want to sell our cibi," Donter answered and produced the fruit.

"Mmm," the Squib said; it's olfactory senses were better attuned than humans. "Good cibi. Who you?"

When her father gave his name, the Squib considered for a moment, then he – it – shook its head. "No. Me closed now. Go away, humee." As if to prove its point, the Squib gathered up its wares and left the stall.

By now, most of the other market dwellers had similarly disappeared. Donter stared after the Squib, his eyes narrowed and dark.

"What is it, dear?" Briadan asked.

For a long moment, Bryama wondered if her father hadn't heard the question. Then, he turned and carefully put the cibi back into the speeder. "It's nothing. Let's trade our cibi for some supplies." They'd been gone much of the day; their home would need repair by now, due to the rapid growth of the Xekos.

"Got nothing today. Go away." The Bith who sold them supplies was curt. Before Donter even got out of the speeder, he'd put a 'closed' sign in front of his shop and grumbled at them.

Briadan's arm slipped around her husband's. "What will we do?" she asked as Donter slipped back into a sitting position.

With a sigh, Donter turned the speeder toward home. "I'll think of something," he said.

"I don't understand, Father," Bryama said behind them.

"It's nothing," Donter said. "Probably a bad day for business. We have some supplies at home; we'll have to dig into them, that's all."

Home was carved into the side of a giant Xekos. Branches swarmed around the entrance. Donter cut them away with practiced ease. Inside, the vines and brambles weren't so bad; the family quickly dealt with them.

Evening meal was cibi fruit and vegetables. When it was time for Bryama to head to bed, her father hugged the stuffing out of her. Briadan stood back and smiled, but didn't approach her daughter.

"They're acting strangely," Bryama said to herself. "Adults sure are weird," she said. "If that's what awaits me, I hope I never grow up." Still, there was a general feeling of tension and fear in her home tonight. Usually, she felt warm and comforted. Tomorrow, she decided had to be better than today.


	3. Chapter 3

"Out of way, _slemo_ ," the Weequay said, shoving Zenaa to the side in his haste to get to the local cantina.

With deft hands, she managed to steal a few coins from the jerk's pocket. A grin pushed up one corner of her mouth as she continued walking.

As a Togruta, she was relegated to a lower class on Sleheyron. The Hutts preferred toadies who could act tough to the peasants, but would bow and scrape before them.

Still, she and her father did all right for themselves. They were serfs; not quite slaves, but not free, either. Indebted to Zumm the Hutt, it would be a long time and cost much before she could be free.

It was morning. The first sun had already risen, casting the small town of Jabfar in a scarlet glow. The second sun, closer and a duller red, would rise before midday.

On the outskirts of Jabfar, Zenaa watched children climb in and out of wreckage. Though she was only eleven herself, she viewed the others as mindless cretins.

"Wanna come searching with me, Zenaa?" Older, Wibiv, a Gran female, stood before her in the street.

"Maybe later, Wibiv," Zenaa said and kept walking. She wanted to get back to the shop with the trinket she'd already picked up in the morning twilight.

"I'll come along," Wibiv said and slid in beside her.

They stepped over metallic trash piles as they walked. Sleheyron was literally a trash heap of a planet. Centuries, or maybe millennia ago, the core of the planet had changed somehow. The magnetic field grew and warped along with it, creating terrible problems for navigation in the system.

The planet was littered with tens of thousands of crashed ships. It had taken decades for the Hutts to develop technology to counteract the new magnetic field. Any ship wanting to do business on Sleheyron needed special dampeners to get anywhere near the planet safely.

Of course, all the wrecks made salvage a lucrative business.

" _My_ dad found a partially intact hyperdrive last week," Wibiv said arrogantly as they walked.

"Good for your dad," Zenaa said. Inside the pouch which swung on her hip was what she believed to be a projector. It was the part of a hyperdrive that helped find and tear into hyperspace, projecting the ship forward. Without it, a hyperdrive wouldn't function.

Once she identified it for certain, it would make a fine sale.

"What has _your_ dad found lately?" Wibiv asked. "Can a Togruta get a good deal, or do you end up with _bantha shavit_ for your trouble?"

"What do you think?" Zenaa glared at her opportunistic friend. "Does being a Gran help any more? You know Zumm only likes his lapdogs."

"True," Wibiv said. "Weequays, Trandoshans and Gamorreans. Oh, my."

"Dugs, too," Zenaa said.

"And Toydarians." Wibiv spat out the name. "Mostly, though, they just buy the junk we find and sell it to the Hutts."

On Sleheyron, a serf didn't barter directly with a Hutt. That would have been impossible. Instead, the poor had to deal with shady middlemen, who bought their junk for practically nothing, then sold the best bits to the Hutts for profit.

They reached a rundown earthen shop. A rusted metal sign spelled out the word "Radee's" in Huttese. It was Zenaa's father's shop.

A little bell tinkled as they went inside. "Morning, Zenaa," Radee, her father said, then nodded to her friend. "Good morning, Wibiv."

"Good morning Mister Bako," Wibiv said. She nudged Zenaa in the ribs. "I'm gonna go see if there's any new crash sites to look at." She nodded respectfully to Radee and left the shop.

Bits and pieces collected dust on shelves. Partial droids sat, their lightless receptors blind to the universe. The shop was owned by Zumm the Hutt; the slug used it to keep the Bakos subservient. Rarely did they get any visitors from off-worlders. That left what they could scrounge and sell to the middlemen, or what they could get working again and sell to locals.

"What have you got there, Zenaa?" Radee asked after the door to the shop closed. "I saw you guarding your pouch."

"I didn't want that _schutta_ getting her grubby paws on it," Zenaa said. Wibiv was a friend – only until she saw something she wanted. Then, she could become a terror.

Slowly, her eyes watching for the door, her ears listening for the tinkle of the bell over it, she drew the projector piece from her pouch. It glittered in the rays of sunshine piercing the dust-caked windows of Radee's shop.

"Oh, that's nice," Radee said, leaning in closer so he could see better. "Still intact; very good, Zenaa."

"Is it what I think it is?" she asked, allowing him to look it over.

"If you think it's a projector to a hyperdrive, then yes," Radee said, smiling. He handed it back. "It is functional. I'm certain Nivva would be interested in buying it."

"I'm sure," Zenaa said sarcastically. "That Toydarian is the biggest cheat I know."

Radee clucked his tongue, arching an eyebrow at her. "Nivva treats us better than the others." His tone suggested he knew better than she. "Nevertheless, you found it; take it to whomever you choose. Just be careful, Daughter. Avoid the Gand part of town; they're always looking to kidnap someone young enough to sell into slavery."

"Yes, Father," Zenaa said, scowling at him. She set hands on hips. "Do you ever get tired of telling me what to do?"

His look was sheer delight. "No," he said, a grin spreading his features wide. "It is the singular joy I have in life."

Despite herself, her gruff exterior broke down and she laughed, before poking her finger into his chest. "That's what I get for asking questions."

Outside, children ran to and fro, diving into junk piles or taunting the tired pack animals in the streets. Adults admonished them to get out of the way. A fist fight spilled out from a nearby cantina. A human was getting trounced by a Trandoshan.

Zenaa slipped down a back alley to avoid the gathering crowd. Quickly, she had to duck into a doorway as several Gand appeared at the other end. They made their way through the alley, glancing this way and that.

Sucking in her breath, she felt her heart race. The door she huddled by was closed; there was only so much space she could hide in. She'd foolishly let down her guard, and now Gand might really enslave her.

They were close. Wishing she was anywhere else, Zenaa thought about fighting. A slow chill crawled up her back. The Gand carried shock sticks. She had nothing but her fists.

Just as they passed the doorway in which she huddled, she thought very hard about making a run for it. Before she could, though, a pebble bounced off the earthen walls, opposite her. The Gand were distracted.

Swiftly, Zenaa slid from her hiding spot and slunk from the alley. To herself, she thanked whatever gods had tossed her a life line. Maybe someone was watching over her. Her mother, dead for ten years, perhaps?

Now that her heart had slowed and her breathing relaxed, she felt taller than before. She found Nivva's stall in the center of town with a skip in her step.

"Aw, little Bako's come to offer Nivva a trinket?" the Toydarian said, fluttering about like a busy bee. "Whatta you got, Zenaa; I'm-a busy woman."

"Rumor has it someone bought a hyperdrive without _this_ ," Zenaa said, holding the projector up to the light.

"Eh?" Nivva said and quickly reached for it.

Zenaa was quicker, palming the device before anyone else could notice it. "My dad said it was authentic and intact. What's it worth to you?"

"Your father, eh?" Nivva flapped in the dry breeze for a moment, rubbing her chin. "If Radee says it's good, then I'll give you twelve copper coins for it. You won't find a better deal from those Duros thugs, eh?"

"Come on, Nivva." Zenaa scowled and put the piece back in her pouch. "You know damn well you'll sell it to Zumm's people for ten times that much. No hyperdrive can work without one."

"No hyperdrive can work without any of its components," Nivva snapped. Soon, though, she sighed and her arms dropped to her sides. "But, your father is a good man; I always try to deal as fairly with him as I can. All right. Twenty-seven coins, but not-a one more."

The smile Zenaa brought out was genuine. Before Nivva could rethink her offer, she'd placed the projector in the flapping woman's hand and was counting her earnings. Twenty-seven copper coins. She knew just where to go with them as they slid into her pouch.

"Thanks, Nivva," Zenaa said as she hurried away from the stall.

Another backstreet. This time, no Gand around. Instead, she palmed open a door, stepped inside a dusty shop. Jawas scurried here and there. They chittered in their hard to decipher language.

"What you want? This Iviz shop." The Jawa behind the counter cocked his head, his glowing yellow eyes ablaze.

"Hello Iviz," Zenaa said. "You know me, remember?"

"Iviz remember," the Jawa said quickly. She'd helped him out of a jam with a Gamorrean who wanted to stomp the little fellow into a puddle. "What you want, Zenaa?"

She pointed. "How much?" she asked.

Iviz studied the object. "Twenty copper," he said.

"Really? Even for a friend?" Zenaa cast her eyes down to his tiny feet. "I never asked you for anything. I just think it might only be worth fifteen?"

"Fifteen? For a power converter?" Iviz sighed. It was a strange sound coming from a Jawa. At least, Zenaa had never heard one sigh before. "Seventeen. Iviz has to make money."

"Deal," Zenaa said, plunking down the coins with her left hand, scooping up the converter with her right. "Thanks, Iviz. You're a real pal. If there's anything I can do for you, just ask."

"You a friend, Zenaa," Iviz said. "Iviz ask, if Iviz need."

The converter was broken. No way anyone could find one so cheaply if it worked. Zenaa hurried back to the shop, barely making eye contact with her father. She rushed into the back, to his workbench.

With micro-spanner in hand, she pried off the cover. She'd seen this item before, in the hands of a bully who'd stolen it from a weaker kid. When she recognized it in Iviz's shop, she knew just what was wrong with it.

"What you got there, Spaceangel?" her father asked when he stuck his head into the back.

"You'll see," she said absently, continuing her work. The tiny power coupling needed re-soldering. With that done, she put the back plate on and plugged in the converter. It hummed with power and she squealed in delight.

Triumphantly, she marched out to see her father. "Sell this, Dad," she said, handing him the converter.

Carefully, he took it in his hands, turning it over. When he plugged it in, his smile was generous. "Very well done, Spaceangel," he said. "This will get us closer to getting out from under Zumm."

She snorted laughter. "Thanks for _that_ image, Dad," she said. With ten copper coins still burning a hole in her pouch, she knew what she wanted next. However, that would wait for another day.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Soft greens and bright azure filled the view screen. Vek pulled the _Ebon Hawk_ into orbit of the farmworld Dantooine. There was a small settlement, not far from Khoonda, one time capital of the agrarian world.

"This is the ship _Ebon Hawk_ to ground control. Requesting clearance to land, over." Static first spoke through the transceiver.

It took a few minutes, then the speakers crackled to life. "Who are you and why do you have any interest in landing here?"

Interesting question. He was about to reply with something no doubt witty, but then Yoda waved his gimer stick at him. Quickly, he changed tack. "My name is Vek Talis and I am interested in speaking with the Jedi here on Dantooine."

Static. Muffled voices chattering back and forth came in snippets Vek couldn't make out.

Then, "Did you say your name was Vek Talis?" The new voice was feminine. Vek cocked an eyebrow at its timbre.

"Think with that, you should not," Yoda warned, shaking his gimer stick again. "See for yourself, the condition of these so-called 'Jedi', before assumptions you will make, yes?"

"Yes, I am Vek Talis," he said blandly.

"Permission to land granted," the feminine voice said. "Stand by for coordinates."

The bored sounding male voice returned, sending coordinates which weren't too far from the significant structures Vek had seen from orbit. They indicated a landing pad about a quarter kilometer away.

As the ramp came down, Vek took in a deep, relaxing breath. "Ah, the smells of home," he said. Though happiness filled him in the breath, when he blew it out, sadness pushed at the back of his mind. When he first arrived here, in this galaxy, this was where he appeared.

"Vizif," he said quietly, remembering his master. Many other Jedi and non-Jedi he'd known here flashed through his mind. He hadn't been to Dantooine for at least two thousand years. Memories still lingered, as he'd just discovered.

With a deep sigh, he cast his eyes to his boots, stuck his arms up the opposite sleeves of his robe and walked from the ship, HK and T3 trailing behind him.

"Statement: This planet holds few enough organic meatbags, Master. Query: Why are we here? These meatbags are hardly worth blasting, Master." HK-47 had a one track memory core.

"E-excuse me," a man dressed in coveralls asked. "M-might you be a J-jedi?"

Vek wasn't sure if he had a speech impediment, or he was afraid. Then, the man's fear hit Vek like a wave. He'd been guarding his emotions – or trying to.

"No, I'm no Jedi," Vek answered truthfully. Or, at least truthfully enough. For much of his time here, Vek had identified as a Grey. Not many things in life were cut and dry; that went for the Light and Dark sides, too.

The man seemed to visibly relax, though he stared at what swung on Vek's hip. When he pointed, Vek became a little self conscious and touched the hilt.

Before he could make something up about it, a green skinned Twi'lek female sauntered toward him. The robes she wore were black, trimmed in red and they fit well about her. Vek could see every curve.

"Master Talis," she said and bowed from the hip. "I am Master Oezonhati, one of the Jedi in charge of our Temple. Please come this way."

Looking back, Vek wondered why neither Yoda, nor Palpatine had come off the ship. He punched the button on his remote and the ramp began to close.

They walked the distance to the Temple in silence. Only when the entrance doors opened, did Oezonhati ask, "Is it true?"

When she said no more, Vek replied, "You'll have to be a little more specific. Is what true?"

"Are you the one spoken of in prophecy? The Grey One." Oezonhati inclined her head, allowing him to enter the Temple first.

"I'm afraid I have no idea about any prophecy," Vek said. The Temple reminded him only marginally of the Temple on Coruscant. It was like someone who'd read a little about that structure had tried to build this one only from their imaginings.

Space was also an issue. Oezonhati allowed him to see the Room of Ten Fountains, which was tranquil enough. Still, a feeling of tension and barely veiled hostility followed him, burrowed into his senses.

"We are doing our best to rebuild the Order of old," Oezonhati said. "The Grey One is supposed to aid us in this quest by convincing the nonbelievers to join us."

"'Nonbelievers'?" Vek asked.

"Statement: We can terminate hostilities by aggressive negotiation, if you wish," HK said. Vek's eyes rolled back into his head.

Oezonhati glanced at the droid, then back to Vek. "Uh, yes," she said awkwardly. "There are others who claim to be Jedi. We were shown the correct ways of the ancient order. You will see, and then you can help us reunite with those who have lost their way."

She took him to the lower levels, where Younglings were being trained. Everything seemed fine enough, except for the negative emotions which continued to nag at him. It was when they went to the lowest level that Vek understood. A wing housed masters and padawans, and the other was where they ate and practiced.

A teenaged Togruta sparred with his master, a human female. Vek watched the match with growing trepidation. The Togruta gave off such nervous energy Vek wondered if anyone in the Temple could avoid sensing it. When the padawan made a misstep, the master extinguished her practice blade. Padawan followed suit, then his stress levels went off the chart. A moment later, Vek saw why.

Gaping, Vek turned to Oezonhati. "That master just struck her pupil," he said, amazed and ashamed and worried for the padawan all at the same time. More than a simple swat, the human used a balled up fist on the terrified teen.

"What is the meaning of this?" When he received only a stare in return from Oezonhati, he pushed himself forward, glaring at the master. "That's terrible, what you just did to him. What's the matter with you?"

In turn, the master stared back at him. "Who are _you_ to tell me what I should do with my padawan?" she asked. Turning to Oezonhati, she demanded, "Who is _this_?"

The green Twi'lek got between them while the teenager slunk away into a corner.

"Patience, Master Forlan," Oezonhati said, then turned to Vek. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"What seems to be the trouble?" Vek echoed her words, growing worry consuming him. "Abuse is not part of the training program of a Jedi. For a Sith, maybe, but not a Jedi."

"This has been our way," Master Forlan said. "Handed down from generation to generation. Who are you to tell us differently?"

It was tempting to tell her in no uncertain terms. Vek had been around the galaxy since her ancient ancestor crawled from the slime of evolution.

"This is the Grey One," Oezonhati said to Forlan. "He has seen much."

"I've seen too much," Vek said wearily.

"Perhaps he simply doesn't understand our way," Forlan said. "Come, we should train you in public relations," she said to her padawan. At her commanding voice, he started, then fell into step alongside her, slightly behind.

"That flinch," Vek said, pointing to the padawan. "That boy is terrified of his master. Is that what you teach here? That fear is the best motivator?"

The Twi'lek wrinkled her nose at him. "A pupil must experience the Dark Side for her or his own self," she said matter of factly. "Fear is often the best way to bring out their anger. Anger, then, can be channeled into more productive areas."

"Are you saying a master abuses her padawan to make him experience the Dark Side?" Vek had heard a lot of bologna in his life. This was like bologna as icing on a cake, a disgusting metaphor if ever he'd come up with one.

But, Oezonhati nodded. "Precisely. Just over three centuries ago, when he restarted the Jedi Order, Darth Plicitous taught us the code we have existed by ever since."

This day kept getting weirder by the minute. "A Dark Lord of the Sith restarted the _Jedi_?" Just when you thought you'd heard it all...

"Well, yes." Oezonhati looked at him crookedly. "You're starting to make me wonder about you."

"That goes double for me," Vek said. "Please explain why your ancestors believed a Sith wanted to restore the Jedi."

"As Darth Plicitous explained it: the Darkness cannot exist without the Light," Oezonhati said. "Each one needs the other and can never fully extinguish its natural foe. He was doing himself a favor, and in turn, did us one as well."

Vek's tongue clacked against the roof of his mouth. That was... too close to his own line of thinking. Good and evil. A thinking being would have no idea what one was, without the other. Still...

"Why would you think a Sith would tell you the absolute truth?" he asked. "Striking a padawan isn't how the ancient Jedi did things."

"And how would you know that?" The green master's own dark side was starting to show through. Her anger leaped from her. If it could have grown arms and hands, it might have strangled Vek.

Disappointed, to say the least, Vek tried to divert the conversation. He would need to seek out the Jedi on Onderon and Coruscant before he could make up his mind which sect to support. He doubted it would be these folks.

"Tell me of the Jedi code," he asked calmly as they climbed the stairs to the surface.

Reluctantly, now that Oezonhati had erupted, she seemed far less friendly, she recited their code for him. "There is no anger, there is only peace. There is no Freedom, only Slavery to the Force. There is no death for those who feel the Force."

"I see," Vek said. Outside again, several civilians had just arrived. Their speeder pulled a sled behind it with all kinds of fruits, vegetables and meats. "You eat meat?" Vek asked. Maybe they weren't all bad.

"Yes," Oezonhati said. To the civilians, she pointed. "Take your tribute over to the port, you useless slime. And don't make me use the Force to determine if you've cheated us again. If you think you can get away with that twice, you are sadly mistaken."

"Yes, Master Jedi." The civilians sounded flat and fearful. They climbed back into their speeder and moved as commanded.

"As you can see, we rule over mundanes, as it was meant to be." Oezonhati had the self righteousness to sound haughty.

"I think I've seen enough," Vek said. "This is despicable. Jedi live to protect and serve others, not the other way around."

"We command the Force," she shot back. "How does that not make us superior?"

Shuddering, Vek turned away from her. This whole planet was subjected to the whims of people like this? Slowly, he said, "It is _because_ we share this gift and burden that we are supposed to look on others with compassion." Even as a Grey, Vek wouldn't harm anyone who wasn't harming him, or an innocent.

"Compassion is in our forbearance in dealing with mundanes." Oezonhati didn't get it.

"I feel I must go," Vek said.

"I don't think so." Oezonhati grabbed her comm unit. "Guards." Two squads of soldiers in dark green uniforms spewed from the sides of the Temple.

"Query: Now may I blast the offending meatbags, Master?" HK-47 asked.

"I reckon," Vek said and ignited his saber. Silver light shot forth. Oezonhati's green blade crossed his. The soldiers opened fire.

T3 had a small blaster built into his frame. He whizzed behind some cover and fired sporadically.

HK-47 activated an energy shield and used his Mandalorian heavy rifle with aplomb. "Statement: This unit is perfectly capable of blasting you into a slag heap of atoms, offending meatbags."

Vek blocked a few blaster bolts away from his droids, then twisted to avoid a vicious stab from Oezonhati's blade. Remote in his left hand, he started the _Ebon Hawk_ , set it to autopilot and dropped the ramp.

Trying to disarm Oezonhati, he lunged forward with his saber, dodging a burst from the Force. Instead of twisting her blade away, he nearly lost his and took a swipe that grazed his left shoulder.

"I'm out of practice," he said as the _Hawk_ hovered nearby. T3 was already rolling up the ramp, HK stepping backwards, tossing blaster bolts around like they were free. No doubt the homicidal droid wished they were.

Several of the soldiers were down, while others tried to surround Vek. He rushed through them with a burst from the Force and ran up the ramp, closing it behind him.

"Get us out of orbit, T3," he called as he panted, lying on the floor of the ship.

HK clanked over to him. "Statement: Master, I tried my best; forgive this humble droid for leaving some organic meatbags alive."

Palpatine's Force ghost huffed. "You see, Vek? _Power_. That is something all life forms respect. You can claim unlimited power, as I did. You can rule over those fools and set them to the right path."

"Stellar." Vek pushed himself to his feet. "I have to use the can," he said and pushed his way past Sheev's ghost. He heard the emperor huff again. So far, he wished he'd stayed asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Hand me that hydrospanner, Spaceangel," Radee said. His face was buried in a droid he was repairing for a Bith who ran the nearby cantina. Server droids got smashed up frequently and this Bith often brought them to Radee's shop.

"What's that, Father?" Zenaa, who was on the other side of the wall, didn't hear him too well.

"Hydrospanner. Now. Please." When her father had his head in something, he didn't mince words, though he was always polite to his child.

"Righto," she said. She'd been watching several Duros in the shop who seemed familiar, and turned her back for a few moments to bring him the tool. When she returned to the counter, they were right there, waiting for her.

"Oh, you scared me," she said, not really startled, but she didn't want them to know she'd been watching.

"You, Togruta, Radee?" By his intelligence, Zenaa suspected this Duros was their leader.

"I'm his daughter, Zenaa," she said flatly. "What do you want?"

"Oh, sorry; my eyes cannot detect difference in human male and female," the Duros croaked.

One of her hands fell to her hip and she shifted her stance. At the same time, her eyes rolled back into her head. "You just called me a Togruta; you know I'm not human."

"Oh, yes, this language, Basic, I not am good with it."

" _Clearly_ ," Zenaa was tiring of this conversation. "What can I get for you?" _How can I get you out of here,_ was what she thought.

By now, his buddies had managed to encircle her. Only then did she remember having seen them before. It was too late, of course.

"You need protection," the lead Duros said. "Pretty, but weak Togruta, need strong Duros to keep bad men away. You give us fifty shiny coins, and we make sure bad men stay away."

Zenaa waved her hand in front of her nose. "And you need mouthwash, Hutt-spawn."

The Duros all croaked laughter. It was mechanical and held no humor. "Funny Togruta," their leader said. "Fifty coins now, or smash funny face."

Two of them were behind her, off to either side. She felt them ready to grab her if she said no. It sickened her, but what was she to do against three? They'd come into the store before and done the same to her father. That was why they'd looked familiar. She'd only seen them once.

Reluctantly, she opened the cash register. Fifty coppers was most of their profit. Technically, serfs could keep a percentage of profit when they turned in their take to the Hutt.

However, thugs like these prowled the streets, running protection rackets. They paid a hefty price to the Hutts themselves, in order to 'do business'. It all came back to the Hutts in the end, so why should they help the serfs?

If only they could save up enough, they could purchase their freedom. Sadly, she held out the coins. The lead Duros grabbed them greedily.

"Smart Togruta," he said. The little bell over the door rang as they let themselves out.

"Did we have customers, Spaceangel?" Radee stuck his head around the corner.

"Not really, Dad," Zenaa said. She slumped into the chair behind the register. Radee went back to his work.

Scrounging helped them save some coins. Even if she couldn't find anything useful to sell in the shop, there was always Nivva, or Iviz to sell to.

The desire to get off this desert rock overrode her sadness at having to give away most of their money. Eagerly, she bounded off the chair. "Dad, I'm going out to scrounge."

"That's nice, Zenaa," Radee said absently from the back. "Don't stay out too late."

Her pod was parked behind the shop. She flicked the starter switch. Nothing happened. " _Shavit_ ," she swore. A local woman stared. "What? You never heard a dirty word in your life?" Zenaa snapped. The local got moving in a hurry. " _Schutta_ ," she muttered under her breath.

Spanner in hand, she pried off the hood. The rotating mechanism was stuck. Lovingly, she beat it with the spanner. That got it loose. When she flicked the starter switch again, the pod roared to life. "Just needs some tlc," she said and grabbed the controls.

There were several crash sites surrounding Jabfar, but Zenaa wanted something she hadn't seen for a while. About twenty kilometers to the south was a mostly forgotten slag heap five kilometers wide. Many ships had crashed here, but most were ancient. Fortunately, there hadn't been many close calls in her lifetime.

The Hutts lived deep underground on Sleheyron. They had to, to stay safe. Ships were so frequently pulled to their doom that living in a town above ground was a death sentence waiting to be carried out. But what could the poor do, except take their chances?

"Oh, what's this?" Zenaa said, then blew a raspberry when it turned out to be a piece of junk. Not a piece she could do anything with, at that.

Shovel in hand, she dug a hole into the debris. Maybe something farther down would be worth something. In the hole, she picked through metallic objects that had once held meaning.

"A power motivator?" she asked herself. Gently, she scraped some caked sand from around the piece. Perhaps it had been part of a droid that had been on a crashed ship. It was the right size and shape.

A tiny light on the motivator blinked. She whooped with glee. Though the light immediately went out, it was a good sign that it had come on at all.

"Now we're talking," she said, sliding the piece into her pouch. It would be perfect for the droid she was building for her father, to help around the shop.

She found a few more pieces, mostly garbage she might combine into a part for an engine. There was a fragment of a drive someone might be able to retrieve some data from. It wasn't a bad haul for a couple of hour's work.

The suns were high in the sky when she again stood on top of the pile. A bright light pierced the azure sky. When it turned into a streak, Zenaa's eyes bulged.

"Oh, no," she said. A ship that had the right dampeners wouldn't light up the sky brighter than the suns. The fact she could see it was an even worse sign. It might land on her head, which would do nothing to perk up her day.

Without taking another moment to think, she dove into the hole she'd dug, wishing she could pull the debris in over her head. It might save her life, if the ship was going to crash close, but not close enough to kill her outright.

Debris rained down on her as she thought about scooping it in over herself. "What?" she said, but was grateful for however it happened.

The initial crash didn't sound like much, just a muffled _whump_. That was when she really huddled down, pulling more debris over her head.

A shock-wave cascaded across the desert. It made the debris under her rumble and shake, more as it came closer. If it hit her, she might die. Helplessly, she lay there in the garbage, shaking along with the entire slag heap.

And then, the shimmying and rumbling died away. A roar and whine passed over the huddled girl, but only a few pieces of loose trash blew overhead. The shock-wave had died before reaching her.

Thrilled, she pulled first her head, then her body from the debris. A pair of binoculars came up to her eyes and she studied the range and vector of the rising smoke.

"Thirty-four kilometers south, southeast," she said. When the binoculars were safely back in her pouch, she wrote down the information for later. If she was lucky, she could come out to this new site soon, before the vultures picked it clean. Of course, that would have to wait until the burned up ship of now molten metal cooled.

"Dad'll be worried about me," she said as she hurried back to her pod. " _If_ he took his head out of his work long enough to know there was another crash." Sometimes her father could be so lost in his work, a ship could land on him and he wouldn't even notice.

Back home, it was clear to her that he'd been pacing for some while. A bright smile spread across his features when she walked through the door. "My Spaceangel," he said and hugged her. "Did you get the coordinates of that crash?"

Zenaa smiled back. "I'm going as soon as it's cooled off."

"Good," he said. "Now I can get back to work, knowing you're safe."

Rather than stay at the shop, she went home. P7-D5 was in her room, its frame in good shape and processors working. Mostly. A few more pieces and she would have a terrific gift to give Radee.

"Now, where's my spanner?" she asked the adobe walls of her room. She glanced over at her tool chest, but the spanner sat before her on the table. "Where did you come from?" she wondered aloud, knowing it hadn't been there a moment before. "Ah, well, to work."

With a few modifications, the power motivator slid into the droid with a firm click. The droid bleeped, servos turning its conical head.

"Rad!" Zenaa said and whooped. Unless Radee had been in her room – which was unlikely, as they each enjoyed their privacy – he would have no idea about his present until she gave it to him.

P7 bleeped again, this time quicker and more furiously than before.

"Relax, Peeven," she said, calling it by the nickname she'd already worked out. "I still need a few more pieces to make you whole. Another servo to get you up and moving, and maybe a new omni-tool interface so you can help Dad."

There were parts at the shop that might come in handy. But only if she could exchange them for the bits and pieces she'd found today. Her father didn't mind if she took tech from the shop, so long as she replaced it with good scrounged items.

Peeven blooped sadly, its neck servo turning a dim red light to shine on her. "I know, but soon, you'll be at one hundred percent; I promise," Zenaa said. She hoped she was right. P7 raspberried as she shut it down. There was always tomorrow. Or the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

6

"I'm glad Father was able to take pieces of that dead Xekos tree," Bryama said. High in a tree, she dropped cibis down toward the waiting net. Using the Force, she slowed their descent, as to not bruise the delicate fruit.

"Our home nearly came down around our ears," Briadan said. She remained closer to the ground. The cibi there were fewer and farther between, but she managed to snag a few. "Your father is a resourceful person. I think that's why I let him talk me into marrying him."

"Why didn't you – or _he_ , for that matter – ever tell me he was a Sith, Mother?" Bryama was still reeling over that revelation. The way Donter talked, he hated most everything the Sith stood for. She wasn't yet wise enough to grasp that time could change many things, even youthful hearts and minds.

"Your father wanted to leave that life behind him," her mother said. "I know little myself, beyond what you know now." Briadan started when Bryama lost her footing for a moment. "Do be careful up there, dear."

"I am being careful, Mother." She'd never felt as close to Briadan as she did her father. Donter seemed more alive, more a being of feeling, than Briadan.

"I think we have enough for now, dear," Briadan said as she studied the net.

"I'm glad we haven't seen that horrible Pau'an lately," Bryama said, rubbing her hands across her arms. "Just thinking about her gives me goosebumps."

As if thinking about her made her appear from thin air, Nil Blel, with a gaggle of soldiers, came out from behind a giant Xekos. Bryama rolled her eyes at the sight, but she felt her mother tense.

"Good afternoon." Wisps of sunlight shone off the sharpened teeth of Nil Blel. With a nod of her elongated, bald skull, two of the soldiers with her turned and went back the way they came.

"What do you want?" Bryama asked coldly.

"Merely to make a plea for your safety and security," Blel said, before turning her attention to Briadan. "As I've stated previously, a Sith master is eager to take your daughter as his apprentice. This is a great honor and we wouldn't dream of leaving you and your husband alone without compensation."

Bryama snorted. Blel ignored her. "That is why, the Sith Empire is prepared to pay you twenty-five thousand credits for Bryama. Please consider your future, Mrs. Fettfain, and the future of young Bryama."

"That is a lot of credits," Briadan said absently. Then, she squared her shoulders and looked Nil Blel in the eyes. "Our answer is still no, Captain Blel. We can't put a price on our daughter."

"You will come to regret your poor decisions," Blel said. "The Sith Empire will not force a family to give up their child, but neither will we sit idly by while a potential danger grows in our midst. You will-" Blel flailed about, grasping at nearby branches, trying to keep herself from flying farther into the air.

"Bryama, stop that," her mother said. "I-I'm sorry, Captain Blel."

Giggling, the teen raised her hand and Nil Blel climbed higher into the air. However, her attention was drawn by the sound of several blaster rifles powering up. If she could use the Force to lift and move things, maybe she could use it to make those weapons break.

As she closed her eyes, trying to see the soldiers' blasters through the Force, her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Bryama; stop this at once."

A small sigh escaped her lips as she opened her eyes. "Yes, Mother," she said and allowed Nil Blel to return safely to the jungle floor. She was getting very tired moving the Pau'an, anyway. Lifting fruit was one matter, the mental exhaustion quickly took hold of her.

With her feet on solid ground, Blel straightened her uniform jacket, trying to recover some dignity. Bryama still thought it funny, even as Blel said, "I shall report your arrogance to the master, child." Snapping her fingers, the soldiers followed her away.

"Please, Bryama," her mother said fervently when they were gone. "Don't taunt the Sith like that. They can be ruthless. You've never been exposed to their ways before, and Donter and I had hoped you never would be."

"It's all right, Mother," she said. "They can't be as evil as everyone makes them out to be. After all, Father was one of them once."

"I fear your father knows them better than you or me," Briadan said. "Why do you think he's kept quiet about it for so long?"

"Oh, please, Mother," Bryama said.

Together, they retrieved the net, being careful not to let any cibi fall out or bump too hard into each other. A bruised cibi brought zero credits at market.

Their speeder looked just the way it had when they parked it. Still, something wasn't right. Maybe it was a residual feeling of danger, left by the Force – Bryama had no training, of course, so she didn't know if such a thing was possible – but she couldn't quite put her finger on what was out of place.

"What is it, dear?" Briadan said, her finger poised over the starter. Before her daughter could answer, she punched the button.

Once activated, the speeder seemed to take on a life of its own. Engine humming, a destination bleeped in the computer and as Bryama gaped, they lunged forward at high velocity.

"Slow down, Mother." Normally, Bryama loved speed. This, however, was beyond dangerous. The speeder weaved in and around Xekos trees, large and small. Branches, vines and bushes seemed to blur.

"I'm not controlling it." Briadan sounded as frightened as Bryama felt.

Soon, however, Bryama's fear began to change. Anger took over as it became clear where they were headed.

The speeder zipped through the market, right into downtown Sisysp. Chained men and women, a few children among them, sawed and cut branches and vines from the great Xekos trees. The town needed dozens of slaves to keep the voracious plants from tearing down all the buildings in a matter of days. Occasionally, one of the slaves screamed as a hungry Xekos managed to wrap mossy vines around one, dragging it into an open maw for digestion.

As their speeder came to a halt, before the local government offices, the door whooshed open. There stood Nil Blel, a smug smile on her face, almost as if she expected them.

The Sith strode through the door, followed by her usual escort. A Quarren, dressed in a black robe, joined Blel. He stared at the occupants of the speeder, his tentacles quivering.

"I can taste Force swirl around you, girl," the Quarren said. "I hate humees, unless dipped in fine yukka sauce." It didn't sound like a joke; at least, it didn't make Bryama feel like laughing.

"Did I tell you, Master Praask," Nil Blel said. Then, she turned her attention to Briadan. "Changed your mind?" Her smile was all sharp edges.

Looking to her mother, Briadan seemed to shrink away. Bryama would do anything but shrink. "Why are we here?" she demanded. Before anyone could react, she hopped out of the speeder and ran up to Blel. The Pau'an towered over her. Bryama tried to look impressed.

"Well?" Tried and failed. The teen stuck her index finger in Blel's face. "What did your goons do to our speeder?"

"Bryama." Briadan's voice was a whisper. White as a sheet, her knuckles dug into the speeder controls. "Please," her mother begged.

"It's quite all right, Mrs. Fettfain," Blel said, laughing in Bryama's face. "Thanks to our new policies here on Sychos, your speeder has been equipped with a new safety feature."

"Safety?" Bryama blew a raspberry, so Blel would know what she thought of the Sith version of safety.

Ignoring her, the Pau'an continued, "We would be saddened if, through poor judgment on your part, you were to be involved in an accident with your speeder. All speeders are required to drive themselves, from this point forward."

"So how did we end up here?" Bryama asked. "We certainly didn't want to come to see this Quarren."

"You angry for a humee." The robed Quarren set a clawed hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away. "Good. You make good apprentice."

"I'm _not_ your apprentice," Bryama growled. She glared at Nil Blel. "Tell squidface if he touches me again, he'll regret it."

Now, Briadan was out of the speeder. She touched Bryama on the shoulder. "Dear, please, let's be civil." To Blel, she asked, "Why did you put such a device in our speeder?"

"Don't you want to be safe?" the officer answered. "Your speeder won't bring you back here again unless you tell it, Mrs. Fettfain. My apologies; the first time the device is activated, it automatically homes in on our signal."

"I want girl, Blel," the Quarren said. "You make good on promise."

"I won't be bought," Bryama said and turned her glare to the Quarren. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"Themtug Praask. Master Praask, to humee," the robed Sith said.

"My daughter isn't for sale, Master Praask," Briadan said. "She-" Her breath caught in her throat and a squishy sound emanated, rather than words. Immediately, she reached for her neck, eyes twisting and bulging.

"Stop," Bryama screamed, recognizing her mother was in agony and somehow sensing it was Themtug causing it. When she closed her eyes, she imagined shoving the Quarren back.

"You good apprentice," the Quarren said, "but not good enough." Instead of shoving him, he beat back her attempts and soon she felt paralyzed.

As quickly as it began, however, Themtug Praask released Bryama and her mother. Briadan dropped to her knees, choking and wheezing. Bryama knelt beside her mother, wrapping her arm around Briadan's shoulder.

"I no kill because I nice Sith," Praask grunted. "You sell daughter to me one day." With that cheerful thought, he turned and disappeared into the government building.

Before Bryama could react, Nil Blel grabbed her arm. A medical instrument snapped and Bryama winced at a sudden jolt of pain. Nil quickly did the same to Briadan.

"What's that?" Bryama demanded, rubbing the sore spot on her arm.

"That, child, is a tag," Nil Blel said around a sigh. "Since you are refusing our generous offer, and since the Sith will not force you to take it, you have been branded 'non-compliant'. You are no longer able to buy or sell any item and your credit accounts are frozen."

"You can't do that!" Bryama rushed Blel, fury behind her eyes. As she laid hands on the officer, something hard slammed into the back of her neck. She dropped to her knees, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. A blaster muzzle appeared in her face.

"Not a wise move, kid," the Sith soldier growled.

"On behalf of the Sith Empire, I apologize for any inconvenience our policies may cause," Nil Blel said coldly. "You may return to your home at any time." Without a look back, she strode into the government offices. The soldier lowered his weapon, but remained outside the offices and stared Bryama's way.

"Come, dear; let's go home," Briadan said quietly. "With luck, your father will be able to think of something."

Reluctantly, Bryama followed her mother. Where once she was a carefree girl, the authorities were trying to make her life a nightmare. She wondered if anything would ever be the same again.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Wisps of Force curled around him. Simultaneously, he was in the past, present and future. Faded memories glowed fresh, old friends long gone greeted him with animated smiles. At the same time, he watched himself sit in meditative bliss in the port crew quarters of the _Ebon Hawk_.

Tentative branches reached for something elusive. The Force swirled, dark and light coalescing, then separating. His mind, at peace, searched for the Sith. He had to know this enemy, if he was to help defeat it.

Korriban. _It always comes back to Korriban,_ he thought. There were traces of something much older, too. Far more deadly than Darth Sidious or Darth Plicitous. An ancient danger pulsing scarlet through the Force.

"T3," he mumbled, refraining from coming completely out of his meditation. "Change course for Korriban." He allowed his present self to hear the droid's beeping confirmation, then returned to the Force.

On the verge of capturing the subtle machinations within the Force itself, he was jarred from himself by what felt like a near miss to the _Ebon Hawk_. An image, barely beginning to form, slipped through his grasp.

"Stellar," he said, pushing his aching frame up from the floor. Although he hadn't aged since coming to this galaxy, his bones told him the story of every time he'd put himself in the middle of danger to help someone else.

"What was that?" Vek asked as he got to the cockpit.

"Condescending Observation: I believe, Master, that port authorities in Dreshdae fired on us," HK said. "Commentary: I would certainly love to blast them into infinity. Er, with your permission, of course, Master."

"Stellar." The comm button flashed when he punched it; a taciturn voice crackled to life.

"Unidentified vessel. Greetings from the authorities of Dreshdae. Be prepared to pay all fees incurred during your stay, or have your ship impounded."

"Friendly bunch," Vek said to T3. "Thinking of taking holiday here."

"Funny," said the voice on the other end. "You are cleared for bay E3. Enjoy your stay." The line went dead.

"I do hope he's the head of the tourist board here," Vek said sarcastically. "You heard the man, T3; docking bay E3."

"Why do you come here?" Yoda asked. "Dangerous, this place is."

"I know why he's come here." Sheev Palpatine wandered into the cockpit for the first time in... Well, perhaps for the first time. The former emperor gazed fondly down at the world which was rapidly coming closer. His ghostly chest expanded, as if he had real lungs to drink in the atmosphere. "Ahhhh," he said, dragging out the sound.

"Korriban. You can feel the _power_ here." He turned to Vek. "You, my friend, may see the Dark Side in all its glory. I will wait for you to accept my advice on taking it for yourself. That will be the first step toward absolute power. Something I thought I had, but I underestimated my apprentice's ridiculous attachment to love." The last word, he spat out, as of something unpalatable.

"Love, a Jedi needs not," Yoda said. "Compassion for all beings, essential, it is. Missed out on the greatest power of all, you did, Sheev."

"Ha!" That was Palpatine's answer to most things he didn't understand. He wandered out of the cockpit, mumbling to himself.

"What do you expect to find here, Master Vek?" Yoda asked quietly when the emperor was gone.

"Answers." Vek wouldn't elaborate. There was something eating away at him. That image he was trying to conjure, right at the center of the galaxy's current troubles. No, maybe not currently at the center. Just on the periphery. That was what made the partial vision so challenging.

"Down there, at their strongest, the Sith are," Yoda warned. "Do be careful."

Once the landing was complete, Vek and HK-47 strolled down the ramp. Before he closed it, Palpatine joined them. He continually glanced around himself, as if searching for something.

"Stay with me," Vek said, then wondered why. Palpatine had been with him since the First Order's defeat. What did the Sith Lord have to gain? Had he had a choice in where he went? Perhaps the Force was trying to teach him a lesson. Or teach Vek some sort of lesson. Who could say?

The door to the bay opened and Vek went into the smaller chamber to be run through scanners that might detect any microbes to be sterilized. That being completed, the door on the opposite side opened.

A Sith officer, dressed in grey and black uniform, accompanied by two battle droids, stood just outside the door. "Name and business in Dreshdae," he said flatly.

"Vek Talis, and my business is my own." He handed the Sith his identicard and ownership chit.

The officer nodded as he confirmed, then handed back everything. "Since you are an unexpected arrival, there is an added fee for docking here. Two hundred credits; payable immediately." The droids behind him fixed their visual receptors on him. They disregarded HK, which would have been a mistake if there was going to be fighting.

Instead, Vek waved his right hand airily. "I've already paid the docking fee."

"You've already paid the docking fee," the Sith officer said blandly.

"You should return to your duties and log same," Vek said.

"I should return to my duties and log same." The officer blinked a few times, a faraway look in his eye. Then, he punched a few buttons on his datapad and slowly wandered away, the droids following him obediently.

"You see, you respect power for its own sake," Palpatine said. "Why do you continue to deny your own dark aspirations?"

"Because my aspirations involve living in peace with whomever chooses to do so also," Vek said. "To what end, harming anyone you choose, simply because you can?"

"So they know not to challenge you," Palpatine said.

"What a sad, frightened existence you must have led," Vek said. "You wanted to keep everyone at arm's length, scared of what you might do, because, deep down, you were frightened of them. You used your power to inflict on them the fear you felt."

Palpatine bared his ghostly teeth and let out a feral snarl. But he said nothing, which, to Vek's mind, proved his point.

Once into Dreshdae proper, Vek was immediately reminded of the last time he'd been here. During the Jedi Civil War. With a redeemed Revan. The spaceport looked remarkably like it did in those days.

"Let's have a look around," Vek said, stopping in a shop.

"Proton Intelligence Corporation is here to serve your needs," the woman behind the counter said around a welcoming smile. "How may I assist you?"

Something told him he would need a few items. "Let me see what you have in the way of parts and accessories."

"Allow me to punch up my inventory," the pleasant woman said and did.

Vek identified what he needed and took out his credit chit. Though over a millennium old, the accounts still contained credits and scanned with no trouble.

As she handed him his purchases, their hands briefly touched. "Have a wonderful stay here," she said.

After the encounter, Vek turned away. Though pleasant enough, darkness swirled around her. Perhaps not her person, but her entire way of life. Proton Intelligence Corporation was new to Vek, but they appeared – just from a single glance – to have more than their share of dark secrets.

"Say, what kind of droid is that?" A second Proton Intelligence worker, a Twi'lek, asked before he left the shop.

"Statement: This unit is designated HK-47," HK said helpfully. Thankfully for the tiny headache building at the base of Vek's spine, the assassin droid didn't elaborate.

"Care to sell him?" the PI rep asked.

"Query: _Sell_ me? Commentary: My Master would not be foolish enough to sell one of my obvious talents to an incompetent organic meatbag such as yourself. Observation: Except, of course, over his own smoldering corpse."

Now, the headache stabbed deeper into Vek's skull. Rather than acknowledge what HK said, he simply shook his head and said, "No, he's not for sale."

At another shop, he asked the proprietor, "What can you tell me of the Sith?"

This man gave him a lopsided glance before answering. "Are you stupid or something? Look around, pal; the Sith run Dreshdae and Korriban. I wouldn't stick my nose in their business if I was you."

"Where is their center of government?" Vek asked, pressing his luck.

"At the academy, across the fissure," the man said. "Now, you gonna buy something?"

"Good day," Vek said and left the shop. He passed by a cantina altogether, heading straight for the rear entrance to the port.

Outside, the air was breathable, but seemed dense. Though the planet was quite arid, the atmosphere pressed in against him, like it was extra humid.

"The Valley of the Sith Lords." Palpatine sounded in awe, which he probably was. "Not far from here, beyond the academy." He turned to face Vek. "Many secrets still lie hidden in those ancient tombs, my friend. I could... show you. You could gain strength and rule over this academy; make the Sith _strong_ again."

"That's what I'm not quite understanding," Vek said. "The Rule of Two..." It didn't make sense yet. He could feel the Dark Side; it seeped into every rock, every plant, every particle of air. It was one, and yet, there were multiple entities ahead whose presence screamed of the Dark Side.

"I trained my Hands, here," Palpatine said quietly. "Never knowing the true power which lay buried here. Only now, as a ghost, unable to grasp it in my hands, do I see it." His voice trailed off, his sadness making him seem almost human.

Vek walked across a bridge, stretching across a deep fissure in the ancient stone. Durasteel doors stood stalwart guard. They were closed and locked. Placing his hands on the rock wall, beside the door, he could sense what went on beyond.

"There are dozens of them," he said. "Training with lightsabers, hand to hand, and the Force." Darkness shrouded them, so he could make out no faces. A robed figure, his back to Vek, watched over the trainees. The figure twitched, turned and Vek let go of the rock wall.

"I've seen enough," he said, not wanting a confrontation here. At least, not until he'd had a chance to gather more information.

Back inside Dreshdae, Vek pulled out his commlink, whispered into it. "T3, plug into the main gun and stand by; we may need to leave in a hurry."

As he passed the cantina again, he received a flash from the Force. The Twi'lek shopkeeper was whispering to a Sith in black robes. It wasn't the same one he sensed inside the academy; that one held much more power than this Sith.

"Care to sell your droid?" The Proton Intelligence rep stood in front of the shop. "I can get you out of here without incident," he whispered, a knowing grin on his face.

"That's quite all right," Vek said. To HK, he said, "Be ready."

"Statement: HK-47 is always ready to serve, Master. Observation: This unit suspects carnage is right around the corner; I eagerly await it, Master."

"I'm certain you do," Vek said.

When he rounded the corner, on the way to the _Ebon Hawk_ , he stopped short. A black robed Sith stood before several young people. "What is the true use of power?" the Sith asked.

"To crush anyone who gets in your way." One of the youngsters bristled with anger. "Please let me into your academy, Master; I'll do whatever you say." The others agreed vehemently with the first. The Sith, however, growled in disgust.

"You simpering fools want to be Sith?" He dismissed them with a snap of his fingers. "You are nothing. The true measure of power is how you can manipulate others into doing your bidding for you." Here, he turned to Vek. "Take this Jedi for example." He glared, bared his teeth. "I could kill him, but it would be much more interesting to watch others do it for me. Kill him, and you might earn my recommendation."

Soldiers poured from a side room and HK immediately raised his Mandalorian rifle. The first trooper through the door went down, clutching his chest.

Instead of kill the poor foolish citizens, Vek used the Force to slam them against the far wall. Better to get them out of the way. His silver blade flashed as he deflected blaster bolts. He clouded the minds of the soldiers, and they began to fire at each other, and the Sith.

Red blade humming, the Sith snarled at his own troops, batting bolts back at them. HK blasted a few more and soon the others ran for cover.

When the Sith rushed toward Vek, the Grey Jedi waited patiently, until he could feel the brash fellow's mind.

Young himself, he was misguided and full of fury. Vek waved his hand and the Sith stopped, blade a few centimeters from Vek's throat. It was easy to gain control over the Sith's emotions and cloud his mind.

"You want to walk away," Vek said in a soothing voice.

"I-I want to walk away." Thoroughly confused, the Sith felt his thoughts as from far away and all jumbled up. "I think I need to go back to the academy," he said softly and extinguished his blade.

When he was gone, the foolish civilians came forward, smiling at Vek. "Thank you, Master Jedi," one said. "We thought he wanted to get us killed. We're kind of stuck here, now, though. Could you help us again?"

As a Grey, Vek knew a lost cause when he saw one. The Jedi would try and try and try to redeem hopeless cases. "You want to join the Sith," he said sternly. "No amount of help in the galaxy would set you on the right path." He shook his head and walked on toward the _Ebon Hawk_. "You've made your beds with stupid thoughts of power and vengeance; now you can lie in it."

Aboard the _Hawk_ , he allowed T3 to warm up the engines while he slumped into the co-pilot's seat. Yoda sat on the control panel, watching him glare out at the planet as they lifted into the air.

"Found what you sought, did you?" Yoda asked.

"I suspect the Rule of Two is no more," Vek said sullenly. "I can't prove it. Not yet, but there were dozens of Dark Side users out there."

"For the galaxy, this bodes not well," Yoda said.

"We should try the Jedi on Onderon," Vek said. "If all of these Jedi have been corrupted by Darth Plicitous, then I may have to consider starting the Grey to combat both the Dark and Light."

"Grave danger, I feel," Yoda said.

"You ain't kidding."


	8. Chapter 8

8

Up at the crack of dawn, Zenaa scarfed down some nutrient paste, then headed out the door. Radee was still in the sonic shower, oblivious – or so she hoped – to what his daughter planned for the day.

It took over a month of scrounging and saving for her to reach this moment. Bounding along, she whistled a merry tune. Togrutas were known for their ill tempers, but Radee had always been patient with his daughter, showing her how to ease away the anger. Most of the time, these days, she was happy.

Gand prowled the back alleys, stun sticks in hand. The Hutts didn't permit them to take slaves from the main thoroughfares – though that didn't always stop them – but the back alleys? Why not; usually only scum slunk in and out of the dives which littered the alleyways.

Fortunately, Zenaa's goal was the central market, so she stayed on the main street. When she arrived, Nivva was only just getting to her stall.

"Ah, the Bako girl," she said, eyes sparkling under the morning sun. "You got-a my money?"

"You got what I need?" Zenaa asked in return, then glared at Nivva until the Toydarian grunted.

"Yeah, I got it," she said. From her satchel, she drew forth a compact memory core. "It still needs a power source, but I figure-a, you got what it takes to find-a one, eh?"

Quickly, Zenaa reached for the core. But Nivva was quicker, palming the device and fluttering up, over Zenaa's head.

"You think-a I'm crazy or something?" Nivva's glare was cold and self interested. "You got-a the money?"

From her pouch, Zenaa drew one hundred copper coins. She slid them into the machine on Nivva's stall table. The computer bleeped and whirred, confirming one hundred.

"Good," Nivva said. Only then did she drop the core into Zenaa's outstretched hands.

"Rad!" Zenaa said. She'd sold most of what she'd scrounged lately, and all of what she'd repaired herself, to at last reach this pinnacle. The core was intact, as Nivva had said. Zenaa would have given the Toydarian what for if she'd tried to pull one over on her.

A power source was already waiting back home. All Zenaa needed to do was get the core there.

"Hi, Zenaa."

"Oh, hi," Zenaa said flatly. Her erstwhile friend, Wibiv, always seemed to smell when she had a great find.

"Whatcha got there?" Wibiv asked.

"Junk," Zenaa said, securing the pouch to her hip. Then, she glared at Wibiv. "Why do I get the feeling you're not here for a chat?"

The Gran held out her hand. "I know you got a memory core. Hand it over."

Instead, Zenaa ran. The market square was the center of Jabfar. All the main roads, and most of the back alleys, met in the square.

She knocked over a stall. A Klatooian woman shook her fist as Wibiv darted around, then a droid got in Zenaa's way. The tall, lanky thing was moving crates. Feet first, Zenaa slid beneath the droid's thick, separated legs.

The alley she took branched off in two directions. Zenaa bounded right. A door opened and out stepped two Gamorreans carrying large crates. One saw her dashing towards him and tried to move, bumping into his pal. The other tripped backwards, then bounced off the adobe wall. Zenaa deftly slid between them, before they crashed together, dropping their crates, shouting curses at the girl.

Zenaa darted around another curve in the alley, then shot across a circular meeting place of five alleys. She hid in a doorway, panting, but trying to stay as silent as possible. The sounds of running feet strayed from her own path, taking one of the other backstreets.

After another minute, her heart calming, her palms no longer sweating, she sighed in relief. When she took a step out of the doorway, however, a fist slammed into her gut and she doubled over, the wind taken from her lungs.

"Dirty, _schutta_!" Wibiv roared. "I ought to rip off your montrals." The Gran kicked Zenaa's leg, sending her painfully to her knees on the rocky ground. "Give me that memory core."

When Zenaa didn't act quickly enough to suit her, Wibiv grabbed the pouch on her hip. Her hand slid inside. Zenaa tried to get her breath back. Rage bubbled beneath the surface, but the agony in her lungs wouldn't permit her to get up.

"Mine!" Wibiv said in triumph, holding the core in her hand. She grabbed Zenaa up by her rear head tail and punched her in the stomach again.

Dazed, Zenaa dropped to the ground, coughing and wheezing. She could barely look up at her tormentor, but she managed.

Just then, a net filled up the sky behind Wibiv. It came down on the Gran. The shock made her drop the memory core as she struggled to get free.

A Gand Findsman – or Findswoman, Zenaa could never tell – then another and still another, gathered the kicking and screaming girl up in the net. When Wibiv landed a blow to one of the Gand, it staggered backward, but then surged forward, shock stick in hand. Wibiv shook and Zenaa smiled grimly.

As they dragged away the Gran, one of the Gand turned Zenaa's way, mumbled something in its hard to decipher language, then turned and followed its cohorts.

"W-why didn't they take me, too?" Zenaa said as she picked herself up. Had they met their quota for the day? She shrugged, glad they left her alone, whatever the reason. She scooped up the memory core and hurried home.

The core that had been in P7 previously had died. Nearly finished, it had been a big setback. Now, she happily tinkered with a tiny power converter, installing it into the memory core. Then, the whole thing slid perfectly into Peeven.

The droid bleeped and whirred and sprang to life. As it took stock of its surroundings, it blooped reprovingly.

"What do you mean, 'what a trash heap'?" Zenaa asked harshly. "This is my home."

Peeven blew a raspberry, then let out several startled bleeps.

"No, this isn't the slave quarters of the mansion," Zenaa said, now a bit confused. "Where do you think you are?"

Peeven went through a series of whirs and buzzes.

This made Zenaa laugh. "No, you're not on Sarapin anymore and you're not a noble droid. This is Sleheyron and we're serfs and we own you."

The droid told her what it thought of that.

"You can go _kriff_ yourself, too," Zenaa said. "Let's go; I'm taking you to my dad."

Reluctantly, Peeven got moving as commanded. At Radee's shop, her father gaped when he saw them enter. "By the stars, Zenaa, where did you get that?"

"I made him. For you." Zenaa beamed.

Radee beamed, too. Then he grabbed her in a warm hug. "You're the best, most resourceful, kind daughter a man could have."

Peeven blew another raspberry, then chittered on about how the decor here was so chintzy, and he'd have to brighten up the shop a bit. The droid rolled into the back room, commenting on their terrible use of space and all the tacky items in the shop.

"Did it just say it thinks we run a pig sty?" Radee said, amusement making his eyes gleam.

"I think so," Zenaa said, then shrugged. "Maybe I'll go give it a memory wipe."

She was about to do just that, when Radee set a hand on her shoulder. "Leave it; it's... quirky," he said.

"It's Hutt-spawn," she said, but then smirked. "All right, Dad; P7 is yours, so you do as you please with it."

She missed his thanks, as she got the feeling a Duros was grabbing something off one of the shelves and running from the store. When she turned, she saw that, somehow, she'd been right.

"Dad! Call the security forces," she said, taking off after the Duros. She didn't think he was one of the protection racket thugs, but if he was, then there might be a way to get the Hutts involved. It was bad business, even for thugs, to extort money from a shop and then rob it.

She stayed back, remembering the pounding she took from Wibiv. However quick the Duros was, she was faster, and she trailed him till he went into a door in a back alley, a few blocks from Radee's shop.

No one else was in the alley – the Gand came out at night and usually were gone by late morning – so she waited patiently for a few minutes. Of course the security forces never came.

"They've got better things to do, like kiss Zumm the Hutt's backside," she said to herself with a shudder. When she thought enough time had passed, she palmed open the door and hurried inside.

The place was deserted. It had once been a shop, but everything was overturned and broken. A perfect hideout for thugs. As she got closer to what had been perhaps a storeroom, she heard the thugs talking.

A fine prize, an uncharged blaster, lay on a cracked counter. If they were going to steal from her, she reasoned, she could do unto them. She grabbed the blaster and began backing away, trying to make sure no one saw her.

When she bumped into something, she winced. The door hadn't been so close, and this something was lumpy, and it moved.

Scaly hands grabbed her by the shoulders. A Trandoshan hissed at her. "Theft is a crime here, little girl," it said and dragged her out of the hideout.

Before she knew what was happening, the Trandoshan had dragged her into a lift. Only 'official' thugs of Zumm the Hutt had access to the deep underground. Zenaa's heart sank as her body went down, down.

"What you bring me?" Zumm asked when the Trandoshan shoved Zenaa forward.

"She stole this, Master," the Trandoshan hissed, holding up the empty blaster.

" _E chu ta_ ," Zenaa said in response. This got a deep belly laugh from Zumm. "A Duros stole from my Dad's shop," she said defensively. "I tracked him to that hideout."

"Hmmm," Zumm scratched his chin. "Maybe I believe you, Zenaa Bako," he said, her name from his lips sending chills down her spine.

"Well, I'm telling the truth," Zenaa said.

"We got a pod race coming up," Zumm said, seemingly off topic. Then, he connected the dots for her. "You got spirit. Maybe you race for me."

"I'd rather marry green and scaly," she said, jabbing her thumb behind her at the Trandoshan.

"Ho, ho ho." Zumm's laugh made her wonder if he was considering it. More chills down her spine.

"You got spirit, all right," Zumm said. "Maybe I let you go, girl Zenaa." His large, bulbous eyes flickered up to the Trandoshan. "Get whatever was stolen back for her shop," he demanded.

Then, he fixed Zenaa with a glare so fierce, she feared he would burn a hole through her. "But you be careful, little girl, ho ho ho. Zumm got his eye on you now. You make him mad, and you be in big trouble."

"It's always scary when a Hutt talks about himself in the third person," Zenaa said when she was above ground again. When she got back to her shop, Radee was pacing.

"Oh, Spaceangel," he said and hugged her. "Is everything all right?"

"I got Zumm's attention," Zenaa said. "Did that Duros bring back what he stole?"

"Yes, but he said you were in trouble with the Hutt," Radee said.

"Maybe, maybe not." All Zenaa could do was shrug. It had been an interesting day, to say the least.


	9. Chapter 9

9

A hunk of twisted metal fell. It clanged to the jungle floor with a cold, pathetic sound. Strength in the creations of men was a laughable lie. Pure, savage force existed in nature to condemn the works of men.

What had been Bryama's home lay in metallic shards, scattered across the jungle. In less than a standard month, the place where she'd lived her entire life was torn to pieces. Nothing organic hands could do had stopped it.

"Another cibi, dear," Donter said, offering the sweet fruit to her.

"No," Bryama said shortly. The wreckage of her childhood scared and angered her at the same time.

Since being marked, no one would buy or sell to the Fettfains, just as Nil Blel had promised. That was why their home lay in ruins. The hunger which gnawed at her belly, the price of resistance. Cibi fruit was nutritious, yes, but it alone couldn't sustain a person in good health their entire life.

"What can we do?" Briadan asked her husband, trying not to look Bryama's way. "We have to move on, but we don't dare get in that speeder." Since being fixed for their protection, the speeder had taken them back to Sisysp several times without their input. It sat, cold and moss covered now.

"Look at me, Mother," Bryama said airily. "You won't say it, but you want to sell me. I can sense it."

"Oh, Bryama," Briadan said, but still couldn't look her daughter in the eye. "I would never say such a thing."

"We won't need to," Donter said, grasping Bryama's shoulder, giving it a fatherly squeeze. "Bryama and I will take our cibi to Demtia, to the west. There may be a way to circumvent Themtug Praask's ban on us."

"Better than sitting here, watching what's left of our house fall apart," Bryama said with a shrug. She carried as heavy a load of cibi as her father; since turning fourteen, she'd felt herself getting stronger, not just in the Force.

The path they followed was overgrown with weeds and vines. A few large hollows beckoned with pleasing sounds. Anyone not from Sychos might think a stray kit had wandered inside and go looking for the hapless thing. Then, the Xekos would feast on the fool.

"Why didn't you tell me I had the Force, Father?" Bryama asked after a while.

"I'd hoped we could live in peace as a family," Donter said. "They would have ripped you from your mother's breast, had they known when you were born."

"I thought the Sith were kind, and didn't tear families apart." The sarcasm oozed from her pores; her life had been turned upside down in a matter of months, and no one seemed to be ready to help her set it to rights.

"That Blel can go to Hell," Donter said angrily. It was the first time she'd ever heard him like that. Then, he sighed; it was a forlorn sound, and he seemed to shrink as he did.

"I'm sorry, Yama," he said quietly.

Bryama stopped dead in her tracks, her cheeks flushing warm. "You haven't called me that in a long time, Daddy," she said, curiously aware of the softness in her own tones.

Once again, Donter sighed. This time, a gleam in his eye made it sound defiant, rather than defeated. "Come on; we aren't through yet. Maybe we can sell the fruit and buy passage off this rock."

They began walking again, but Donter had a spring in his step that carried him farther ahead. Bryama had to hurry to catch up.

Demtia stood on platforms raised high into the Xekos trees. Hundreds of slaves and droids languished atop hoverpads, or hung from scaffoldings, trimming branches, pulling weeds and vines before they could tear apart the town. Sychos was always in need of fresh supplies of slaves to keep the towns in existence.

Sith soldiers on the streets eyed Donter and Bryama as they walked, resolute, past.

"Identicard," one soldier demanded. When Donter provided it, the Sith grunted. "You're that traitor." He shoved the card back at him. "Move along, before I get trigger happy. Traitors always get what's coming to them."

As if the insult wasn't enough, the soldier shoved Donter when he turned away. Bryama snarled and was about to lunge, when her father put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Yama," he said quietly.

"Why did that... thing, call you a traitor?" Bryama asked as they walked.

"No one is supposed to resign from the Sith military," her father said simply, then shrugged broad shoulders. "I suppose that's enough for them to say that. Officially, there is no grudge against people who resign their commissions."

"Officially, the Sith don't tear apart families, either," Bryama said harshly.

Donter stopped short, turned and snorted. For the moment, he looked more amused than anything. "We all do things because we think they're the right thing to do at the time. I've tried to teach you to think things through, before acting, Yama. Because, what you might think is good, you might later come to regret."

They walked in silence for a time, Bryama chewing on his words. She begrudged herself a small smile for her father's wisdom.

Unfortunately, wisdom couldn't help them overcome the ban. Anytime they spoke to a shopkeep, the device Captain Blel had injected under Bryama's skin would light up and glow bright red. The shopkeeps would quickly turn away and ignore them afterwards.

She was surprised to see Donter had one, too. When she asked, he said simply, "The price I paid for freedom." Did he mean freedom from his commission in the Sith military? Bryama never got the chance to ask.

As they walked through the streets, desperately trying to find someone, anyone to buy from them, a soldier, coming the other way, bumped into Donter, hard. The fragile cibis spilled from the satchel, falling to the street with multiple thuds, the fruit damaged.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the jerk said, laughing, elbowing his Sith friends.

"Let's go, Bryama," Donter said quickly, before his daughter could erupt. Instead of trying to pick up the already ruined fruit, he took the other satchel from her and walked on.

"Why did you let them get away with that?" Bryama asked, once they'd left Demtia behind them.

Now Donter stopped, grasped both of her shoulders and gazed at her. His hazel eyes sparkled in dapples of light which cascaded through the thick foliage.

"It would have been fatal, Yama," he said carefully. "We aren't defeated yet, so letting them have their laugh allows us the chance to get the last one."

"But, no one will buy our fruit," Bryama said, tears at last welling behind her eyes. She glanced right, then left, trying to stay strong for her father.

"It will work out, Yama," he said tenderly, wiping away the moisture at the corners of her eyes. Neither of them noticed green, leafy vines, wrapping themselves around his ankles. "I have a couple of ideas; we'll get out of here yet."

With those words, Donter was yanked, kicking and screaming away from Bryama. A Xekos, cavernous maw dripping with sap, raised him into the air by his feet. Its blood curdling hunger pangs sounded like the dying grunts of a big banda cat: deep and chilling.

"Daddy!" Bryama screamed.

"Don't get too close, Yama," her father said. He was too calm. "Run and get help."

"Sithspit," she growled. "That scum won't help us." Instead of running, she closed her eyes, imagining her hands reaching out to the tree. In her mind's eye, she imagined the heart of the Xekos. Her hands, growing large, smothered the roots of the tree.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The tree quivered and quaked. She reached forward with her real hands, feeling the energy along the tender branches and vines. When she squeezed her hand into a fist, the tree shook. It carefully swung Donter toward safety, then dropped him onto a bed of fallen leaves.

"Now, what revenge shall I extract," Bryama said, surprised by the ice in her words. With a flick of her wrist, the subtle energies around the tree began to fade. The Xekos shimmied and quaked as its roots began to die.

Suddenly, warmth replaced the chill which had enveloped her. Donter, his hand on her shoulder, peered down into her eyes, his own pleading. "Yama, you can stop; I'm safe. Thank you."

It had been so easy for her to embrace violence. Snapped from it, she immediately calmed, let the tree go. Its vines and branches scurried away from her and the once gaping maw closed. She got the feeling that it wouldn't meet her gaze, though it had no eyes as humans knew them.

"You did well, Yama," Donter said. They resumed their journey back home.

"What will we do now?" she asked, feeling more like a kid again. A frightened kid.

"I'll figure out something," Donter said.

"Mother wants to sell me," Bryama said after a few minutes had passed. "I can feel it coming from her every time I look at her."

"She won't though," Donter said firmly. "She loves you, too. This has been hard on all of us, but worst for you, as the object of the Sith's venom."

"It might be easier on you, if you-"

Quickly, Donter had his hands on her again. Slowly, his head shook back and forth, love radiating from his every pore. "That won't happen, Yama," he said, though she felt tension in his words. "We are family and we'll stay a family. No matter what."

"Maybe Mother's family can help us," Bryama said.

Tilting his head to one side, Donter's eyes seemed far away, as if contemplating. "That's a good idea," he said after a few minutes. "They always did like you."

What he hadn't said made Bryama think while she tried to keep up with his frenetic pace. "What about you?"

"Not many people like a Sith," he said over his shoulder. "I have all the people I care about, though. You and your mother. With luck, her family will help us get off planet. We just need to stick together and reach their home."

And just like that, a new plan was born. Bryama felt lighter than air for a few minutes. All they had to do was get off Sychos, and maybe she could go back to being a fourteen year old. What could be hard about that?


	10. Chapter 10

10

The Stenness Node. Not many hyperspace routes in or out of that place.

Vek meditated. His feelings about Onderon were mixed. In the ancient past, many leaders there were connected with the Dark Side, including the Sith Lord Freedon Nadd.

Still, as he flowed through the currents of the Force, a calming stream soothed him. The Jedi here were peaceful, perhaps a bit too peaceful.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to find Yoda staring at him. "Here, the Jedi are strange, yes?" he asked.

"If know so much, you do, why tell me, do you not?" Vek asked in return. Yoda was not amused.

"Cook for you, I should," he said and grinned wickedly. "Pick these things from your mind, I do," he added slowly, sadly. "Though one with the Force, I am, difficult, it is, to sense the living."

"Onderon seems to be a mixed bag, even today," Vek said. "We'll know for sure in a little less than an hour." He returned to his meditations.

It was then that he caught another glimpse. A young girl, perhaps fourteen, pressed in from all sides by the thick jungle. Rage, fury, fear, all clouded her mind. That was the present, Vek understood. The vision changed. The young girl, a bit older, wiser, but consumed by the Dark Side. She stood over him in triumph. His eyes watched from below and great pain wound its way into his bowels. The sand on which she stood, the breeze which blew through her tangles of hair, the structure looming behind her, were all too familiar to him. Malice dripping from her, she looked on him one last time, turned and stalked toward the ancient temple behind.

Quickly, his eyes snapped open.

"Troubled, you look," Yoda said. "And relieved. The future, you have seen, hmm?"

"One possible future," he said. "I die."

"Look so happy, you should not." Yoda shook his gimer stick at him. "Allow the Dark Side to win, you should not."

The _Ebon Hawk_ came out of hyperspace. A large green planet nearly filled the view screen. Immediately, port authorities were chittering in his ear.

Most of Onderon was thick jungle. Vek wondered briefly if this was where he was supposed to meet the girl in his visions. After a moment, he shook his head slowly.

Hands clutching the controls, he guided the _Hawk_ to Iziz, the only settlement on the planet. Just over three million beings lived here, packed behind large walls to keep out the vicious beasts. Perhaps one hundred thousand residents lived outside the walls of Iziz. They were the beast wranglers: men and women descended from those who had offended the nobles of Onderon in the remoteness of the past. They either learned to live among the ferocious creatures, or they died.

Landing gear extended, Vek eased the _Hawk_ to the landing pad, cut the engines.

"Statement: HK-47 is ready to serve, Master."

"Not this time, HK," Vek said. "I need you to stay and guard the ship." Never had he seen a droid look disappointed before. "You never know, HK," he said reassuringly, "a gang of thugs might come up the ramp, once I leave. Keep that blaster at the ready."

"Condescending comment: Oh, yes, Master. That is so likely to happen that this unit will continue to quiver with anticipation." It stormed off toward the cargo bay, muttering something unflattering about it's master.

Outside, the sun shone brightly, as it was late morning in Iziz. Birds chirped in the trees and eaves of the tall buildings.

"You're both coming along?" Vek asked as Yoda and Sheev strolled down the ramp behind him.

"I have been remiss in your studies on the Dark Side," the former emperor said. "This place is rich in its history."

"Keep you on the straight and narrow, I must," Yoda said.

"Ah, Master Yoda." Palpatine turned to the diminutive fellow for the first time. "Vek is a big boy; indeed, he has lived a far more interesting life than you, my friend. Time to allow him to spread his wings, so to speak, and experience all that life has to offer, not only the rigid interpretations which the Jedi cling to."

"Spoken like a politician," Yoda said, then turned to Vek. "Say more, need I?" Yoda knew of Vek's distaste for slick talking politicos.

In response to the witty rejoinders of his followers, Vek sighed, pushed himself forward. After mind tricking his way out of the port fee and receiving a Starport Visa – the only way for spacers in or out of Iziz proper – he passed through the final gate.

"It feels as much like a prison as last time I was here," Vek said. Security had been tight, more than five thousand years ago. He'd traveled in search of the Exile, Meetra Surik.

"A prison cannot hold someone of your strength," Palpatine said. "Breach the walls with your power and the natives will fall in line behind you."

 _This is going to tax my patience,_ Vek thought. _These two, together, are like petrol and water._

For a time, he wandered the streets, T3 in tow. Dark Side, Light Side, both were represented here. They swirled violently around one another, awash with each other, yet never meeting. He couldn't quite get a bearing on where the Jedi were, as though they were purposely hiding.

"Very different, these Jedi are," Yoda said. "Find them, you must."

"Yes, find them and _turn_ them," Palpatine said.

 _It's like having an angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other,_ Vek mused. A moment later and he winced as Yoda's gimer stick struck home. "Ow," he yelped. Passersby gave him odd glances.

"Pardon me," Vek said. He'd stopped at a street vendor to purchase a small chunk of... something on a stick. He hoped it was meat.

"What else can I get ya?" the young woman who sold him the treat asked.

"Some information," Vek said. Since he'd just made a purchase, she smiled and gave him her full attention.

"As you can no doubt tell, I'm new here. I'm looking for the Jedi. Can you direct me?"

"Normally, I'd tell ya to take the Sky Ramp," she said, pointing upwards. "But it ain't safe for travelers no more." She pursed her lips together and gazed off to her left, deep in thought. Soon, her eyebrows arched and she pointed down toward a street choked by skyscrapers on either side. "Down that way, then take a left, then second street, take a right, then go a quarter of a kilometer, take another left and you should see signs for their underground temple."

"Thank you," Vek said and bowed to her. "Did you get all that, T3?" he asked as he walked away. The faithful droid bleeped happily. The whatever it was on a stick was delicious. It was better, he felt, if he didn't ask after its true identity.

Shadow enveloped them as they took the first back street. The walls of the city lurched closer, spreading durasteel arms around him.

Suddenly, he stopped. "Be ready, T3," he whispered. As if on cue, doors on either side of the street opened. Out stepped a dozen life forms, ill intent in their hearts.

"Whatcha got, spacer?" the closest asked. "Whatever it be, we want it." T3 rolled forward. A compartment on its chassis opened and the droid shocked the lout.

Soon, Vek's silver blade ignited. Blaster bolts whizzed here and there. The ones that could have done him harm were easily deflected. He had to dodge a simple pipe. Blade humming, he cut it in half, slammed the offender against the wall using the Force.

Several thugs were down. The rest scattered.

" _Ha!_ Pathetic," Palpatine said. "It would be so easy to rule over them all, wouldn't it, Master Vek? They yearn for iron-fisted guidance."

 _If I have to listen to this all day,_ Vek thought, _I'm gonna have to find a liquor store._ For his trouble, he received a glare from Yoda. _By the Force, it's Temperence Kiljoy and Darth Talkstoomuch._ By now, both ghosts glared at him.

He caught a flash of danger, right before he heard the report of the blaster. Blade shimmering, he blocked the bolt from above. From the third story, he watched as a hooded figure disappeared into the building. With a push from the Force, he leaped up to the open window, gave chase.

Up, up, flight after flight of stairs, they went. The villain must have had the training of a galaxy class athlete. Vek had to concentrate on the Force to stop the burning in his lungs. At last, the figure slipped into the building proper, about twelve stories up.

Vek burst through the door, senses attuned. Finally, his breathing slowed and he stopped using the Force to help keep him moving. Every door on this level was closed and there was no where else for the hooded assassin to hide.

Eyes darting here and there, Vek searched through the Force. There weren't many life forms home. He realized this was a residential building. Soon, he caught a whiff of Force signature.

When he palmed the door, blade humming, he paused. The hooded figure held a child, knife at the young one's throat. "Back away and nobody gets hurt," the figure said.

"That wasn't your intention when you took a shot at me," Vek said. He stepped forward, ever so slowly. "We can talk about this; I don't want to hurt you."

Apparently not in the mood for conversation, the would be assassin flung the terrified child out the nearest window, dashed for the door.

Vek bolted for the window, reaching to his belt at the same time. He dove, head first, through the aperture, hands outstretched before him, so he'd be more aerodynamic. _I always hate it when I have to get heroic,_ he thought as he closed the distance to the child.

Just before he grabbed the kid around the waist, he turned, flung his grappling hook. Attached to his belt, he felt a giant tug at his waist as the hook caught. Child in his arms, they both jerked to a stop, several meters from the duracrete beneath.

"I'm getting too old for this _shavit_ ," he said quietly as he deposited the child back home, a grateful babysitter shaking his hand.

After following his guide's directions, Vek reached the entrance to the underground temple. By now, the sun was just beginning its arc toward the horizon and many beings were wandering the streets in search of a midday meal.

"What is your business at the Jedi Temple?" a robed man asked when Vek approached.

"I seek their wisdom," Vek said, bowing his head. "I sense you speak for them."

Inclining his head in return, the fellow said, "I am Master Ardshel Chifree, and welcome, Master."

"How do you know I am a Master?" Vek asked as they descended the steps beneath the surface.

"I sense your dedication in seeking the truth," Master Chifree said, then glanced behind Vek. "You also have as your companions two ghosts."

"Yes. Them." Vek would have been happy if they wandered away.

"If you seek our wisdom, then you must understand that we do not freely give it," Chifree said. "Knowledge leads to the misuse of it. Much suffering comes from action and reaction."

"I'm not certain I follow," Vek said. "Knowledge in and of itself cannot harm. That's like saying a lightsaber can kill. It isn't the object, but the one who wields it."

"Yes, and those who would seek knowledge have the will to use it, much like the lightsaber, for their own benefit." Chifree led Vek to a small room, just off the main entrance. "I'm afraid I can't let you see more of our Temple until you decide if you will remain here forever."

"Forever is a long time," Vek said. Better than others, he knew that. "Why would I need to remain?"

"The power we hold is too dangerous to inflict on others," Chifree said. "We must remain here, cloistered together, separate from the worlds, so we may do no harm."

Vek contemplated his words briefly. "Here's a thought," he said. "Just don't do harm."

His host shook his head. "A flippant answer. What _is_ harm? A tyrant may oppress the masses, but do a few good deeds for some. To the many, he is a monster. To the few, he does good works. Who is correct?"

"Tell me of your code," Vek said. These were folks with good intentions. Someone had twisted them into fearing everything. _My bet's on this Darth Plicitous fellow._

Sadly, Chifee shook his head. "I shouldn't, but I suspect you would find a way to discover it. Very well: There is no anger, only peace. There is no knowledge, only ignorance. The Force shall bind me beyond death."

"Allow me to guess," Vek said. "A Dark Lord of the Sith brought you this code, telling you he was doing you a favor."

"Long ago, in order to restore balance to the Force, the Dark One arrived on Onderon, yes." Chifree nodded. "You do know much, Master Talis. You should remain with us, so no harm may come to others."

"I was accosted in the street on the way here," Vek said. Briefly, he described the situation. "I believe the villain was a Sith, though he, or she, never produced a blade to challenge me properly. Only placing an innocent at risk. The Dark Side does not care about putting others in danger."

"That is all the more reason for us to remain here," Master Chifree said. "If an innocent is placed in danger, it is all too likely you will get one killed. Inaction and isolation shall protect the innocent. If Jedi and Sith cannot fight each other, then innocents shall be spared."

"I fear I may not join you, as yet," Vek said. "I have much work ahead of me."

"I understand," Chifree said. "I shall pray for the safety of others. May the Force guide you."

"Simpering fools," Sheev Palpatine said when they left. "They cower and claim they are doing the will of the Force. Ha! The Force commands us; why should we not use it to command others?"

"Lost their way, these Jedi have," Yoda said. "With time, turned to the proper path, they might be. Unlike the Jedi of Dantooine."

"I fear the Dantooine Jedi have already wandered too far down the dark path," Vek agreed, shuddering at the remembrance of master striking padawan.

There was only one place left to see. "T3, let's set a course for Coruscant, once we're aboard the _Hawk_ ," Vek said. His faithful droid beeped agreement.


	11. Chapter 11

11

At last, Zenaa found some time to sneak off to the crash that might have killed her. There had been some more recent, but they'd been much farther away. Ship crashes were a frequent event on Sleheyron.

"With luck, it won't have been picked clean yet," she said to Radee before she left.

"You're a resourceful daughter," Radee said.

P7 bleeped and blooped at his words. "Well, she is, Peeven," Radee said. "Whether you, or your former master think so. Just because someone isn't rich, doesn't mean they don't matter."

Peeven blew a raspberry, making its feelings on that subject quite clear.

Radee shook his head at Zenaa, though he was smiling. "Why don't you take Peeven with you," he said.

"Thanks, Dad," Zenaa said, unsure whether it was a favor.

Her pod roared across the desolation as the suns beat down. Peeven whirred and whined its anger at having sand blast its visual receptor.

"Oh, pipe down," Zenaa said, trying to speculate on what she might find at the crash. "You're not the only one who hates the desert. Some of us just aren't as privileged as you used to be." Sand. It got everywhere. _Every_ where.

As she approached the site, she grunted. A sandcrawler was already there. "Jawas might be picking my find clean as I sit here," she said angrily.

Peeven's outburst said something to the effect of, "At least something in this Force forsaken wasteland will be clean, then."

Zenaa's response was colorful, to say the least.

Curiously, there were no Jawas scurrying about the crash when her pod rumbled to a stop. Quickly, she cut the engine and hopped out. Mostly flat, she could see for a kilometer in every direction before the dunes swallowed her vision into the desolate sands.

"Maybe the sandcrawler is abandoned?" she wondered aloud while she lowered Peeven to the ground. "Come on," she said to the droid.

The wreckage was half buried in the sand. One of the wings had struck an outcropping of rock and had been sheared off. Other than that, much of the ship seemed intact. She whooped when she guessed no one had found their way inside yet.

"Peeven," she said to the stuck up droid, "help me cut through this bulkhead so I can get inside."

Rolling up, the droid made a sound reminiscent of a sigh, though that was impossible. Then, it said something pungent on the subject of "stooping to manual labor."

Zenaa smacked the droid in the side with her torch. "Keep it up, tin can, and I'll show you manual labor," she said and Peeven blooped sadly before accessing its laser cutter.

Once inside, Zenaa left the troublesome droid topside. Much of the main corridor of the ship was passable, though access to the crew quarters was impossible. Likewise, the cargo bay seemed to have been crushed flat upon impact, or melted from atmospheric entry; the computer in the main corridor was too badly damaged to tell her which.

Those were disappointments. However, there could still be valuable salvage to be had in the cockpit.

A large piece of debris lay against the corridor wall, not too far from the cockpit. As Zenaa approached it, a strange tingling made her scratch her left montral. Though she didn't understand how, she had a feeling of dread at the angle at which the debris lay.

When she moved it, a scorched body lay beneath, its muscles contorted into a grim death rigor. The – warning? – she'd received in her montral had prepared her. Though only eleven, she'd seen terrible things, but didn't yet understand how she could have known there was a body under the debris.

"Poor... whatever it had been," she said, wriggling her nose. The smell wasn't so bad as it would have been weeks before. The corpse had been burned beyond recognition.

Before she moved on, however, the body moved. It wasn't a frightening sight, for it had been partially stuck – fused, might be a better word – to the durasteel hull. When she disturbed the wall panel, it loosened.

From the body's heat resistant jacket – one of the only things not crispy fried – fell a datapad, wrapped in a thick, protective coating.

"Now there's a prize," Zenaa said. The coating came off easily enough and the pad bleeped. It was fully functional. "Rad; this'll fetch a high price," she said.

The screen was a little cracked, but all in all, it was fantastic. What was on it, however, gave her pause.

"Looks like schedules and ship names," she said. It might have been a docking master's pad, but there were unusual, seemingly random words beside each entry.

"Weird," she said, slipping the pad into her pouch before continuing forward. The door to the cockpit wouldn't open when she palmed it, though the lock was functional.

"Locked," she said, unperturbed. From her pouch, she pulled a micro-spanner. In no time, she had the panel apart. "I think I can hotwire it," she said.

The door screeched a warning sign and she had to leap backward as a thicker blast door closed in front of the other.

" _Shavit_!" Zenaa unleashed a string of curses after that which would have made the most hardened pirate blush.

"Think, Zenaa," she admonished herself. "What goes through to the cockpit no matter what?" Instinctively, her eyes went up.

"The ducts," she said triumphantly. Of course, then her gaze dropped to the floor. This particular model's life support ducts were under her feet. Hydrospanner in hand, she loosened the floor plating, pulled up one of the metallic squares. It was a simple matter to cut her way down to the duct. Fortunately, it hadn't been squashed flat in the crash.

When she popped up in the cockpit, she felt twenty meters tall. And that was before she found a solitary light on the console blinking on and off. Wide eyed, she pushed a few buttons: though the main computer was in a cascade failure, the navicomputer was intact.

"Rad!" With expert hands, she disconnected the navicomputer's main core; the entire unit itself was too large, but the core was the most important part by far.

That, of course, wouldn't fit in her pouch, so she carried it under her left arm. Briefly, she heard the datapad in her pouch bleep, and a second later, so did the navicomputer's core, as if they'd just interfaced.

Once out of the ship, she gaped. A Weequay male child about her own age was messing with P7. He had one of the droid's main panels off.

"Quit that," she said, rushing to her droid's defense.

"Back off, Togruta slime." The Weequay shoved her down. He was stronger than Wibiv had been.

That didn't stop Zenaa from growling at the back of her throat. She held a fairly heavy piece of equipment; if she bent a piece on the kid's head, so what?

As she rose, however, the kid's friends arrived. One of them held a blaster. "Whatcha gonna do, Togruta _schutta_?" he said.

All Zenaa could do was growl, down deep in her belly. The bullies thought that was funny.

"Leave the stupid droid, Zunny," the kid with the blaster said. "Take the core she's got."

Zunny grabbed the navicomputer core. Zenaa held onto it. In an instant, the muzzle of the blaster stared her in the face. Reluctantly, she let go. At least the Hutt-spawns wouldn't get the datapad, too.

When they left, she noticed Jawas coming out of the sandcrawler. One of them waved to her. It was Iviz.

"What you do here, Zenaa, friend?" he asked when she stood before him. Over him, might have been a better term.

"Trying to make a better life for me and Dad," she said sadly. "Before that slime stole my find."

Iviz looked down at his feet, then rapidly back up at her. "I see," he said, turned and scurried away. For a moment, she stared after him, wondering how he'd meant that.

When he returned, however, he had a small scanner in his hands. "Their speeder goes toward Jabfar," he said in his speedy Basic. "Zenaa friend can catch them, maybe?"

She hadn't recognized the bullies. Either they were new in town, or just visiting. At eleven, Zenaa naturally thought she knew everyone in her sphere. "How?" she asked.

"Weequay hold Jawas hostage, inside sandcrawler, before you come," Iviz said. "Iviz put tracker on Weequay with empty head." He held out the hand held device. "You track empty heads. Return tracker to me, when can."

"Thanks, Iviz," she said happily, briefly touching his shoulder. She took the scanner, made sure she knew how to use it. "I promise I'll take good care of this." Then, an idea sparked in her brain. "Maybe I can get some help."

"Luck good, Zenaa, friend," Iviz said.

"What you want?" The Duros protection racket sat in a cantina, sipping drinks. A band in the corner played an organized chaos. Spacers and locals played Pazaak or watched the cute Twi'lek dancers. It was a typical cantina.

"Some thugs are muscling in on your territory," Zenaa said. "They stole from me and my dad." She didn't tell them it had been on a salvage hunt outside town. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"So?" The Duros slapped the waitress droid on its metallic butt. His friends thought it was funny.

 _Whatever flies your ship,_ Zenaa thought. To him, she said, "They're trying to take over your territory. Do you want to owe Zumm lots of money, but have none? We pay you to protect our shop. I don't give a bantha's ass if you want to drink yourselves silly, but a contract's a contract. We pay you, so now we need your help."

The three Duros put their heads together. Zenaa could see each one's single brain cell trying to mate with the others to come up with an idea. It was like trying to light a fire with tinder and a rock, but no flint to strike a spark on.

At last, the lead Duros croaked, and the others got in line. "Yes. We help. Thugs try to take loyal business from Duros, Duros crack heads. You show who."

"Right this way." Leading the way, the Duros wouldn't see the bright smile stretching Zenaa's features.

"There," Zenaa said, pointing at the Weequay scum. She turned Iviz's scanner off, slipping it into her pouch. The bullies hung out in a back alley, laughing and swigging from a large jug.

The three Duros approached the Weequay from different angles. When they stood face to face, she heard their heated arguments and grinned. The Duros, while reprehensible, were performing a service for her. With luck, they would pummel the younger thugs.

Instead, she was dismayed when the Duros pointed her way. The Weequay called Zunny glowered at her, pointing at her as well.

Fleeing sounded like a good option, but as she turned, a shock stick jabbed into her side. Electric current seized her, made her limbs flail uncontrollably. Agony surged through her little body and all she could think of was making the pain stop.

When it did, blackness overwhelmed her.

A crisp slap across her face aroused her. Her whole body ached and seized again for a moment. Back arching, she growled, grabbed a handful of dirt in grasping fingers.

"Get her up." The voice sounded far away. Rough hands grabbed her, hauled the dazed girl to her feet.

"Ho, ho, ho." The deep voice rumbled, echoed in her ears.

"I can explain, Zumm," Zenaa said, even before she saw the Hutt.

"You explain what?" Zumm asked. "You tell Duros to attack Zumm personal slave. What there to explain?"

"Slave?" Zenaa's vision was clearing. Instead of three Hutts, she saw only Zumm. Beside him, Zunny cast his eyes to the ground. He wore chains around his neck and very little else.

"But, what was he doing out on the desert, stealing from me?" Zenaa's hands flew out before her, palms up, pleading. "You already have so much; why can't we scrape out even a tiny bit for ourselves without you, your thugs or your _kriffing_ slaves coming and stealing it?"

Zumm pulled on the chain. Zunny jerked backward, fell into the Hutt's lap. "Zunny pay for escaping from Zumm," the Hutt said. Then, he pointed a fat finger at her. "But you, girl Zenaa, you make trouble for all. Zumm has enough of you."

The corpulent finger pointing at her snapped toward a hole in the floor, covered with wire. Strong hands grabbed her again, dragged her toward it. The Hutt slithered along after her.

"In you go, girl Zenaa," Zumm said and his henchmen shoved her forward.

Zenaa rolled down, down and around a steep, winding ramp. When she came to a stop, a gate closed off her access to the ramp.

She was right below the wire covered hole. Zumm looked down on her, grinning ferociously. "Girl Zenaa," he said in formal tones. "You make it through my maze, and you go free. You get ate by my pet, tough luck for you." The tub of goo laughed maliciously.

"Now I'm for it," Zenaa said, staring into the murky darkness shrouding the tunnel in which she stood.


	12. Chapter 12

12

They packed up their meager belongings. It didn't take long; much of what they had was destroyed with their home. Backpacks full of bits and pieces, and the few pieces of platinum they'd saved – the standard currency on Sychos – they headed east.

Surely, they reasoned, Briadan's cousins and uncle wouldn't be affected by the Sith ban.

"What if Uncle Baden hasn't the platinum to get us offworld?" Briadan asked.

An urge to shake her mother passed through Bryama with a chill. She was tired of hearing nothing but fear come from her. "You'd just like to sell me, wouldn't you, Mother?" she hissed.

Donter, who'd been chewing on a piece of cibi, spit out a seed, glowered at his daughter. "Enough, Yama. Your mother doesn't want to sell you, anymore than I do."

"I can smell the fear on her, Father," Bryama responded harshly. As if to punctuate her point, Briadan cast her eyes down and away from her daughter.

"All I need from Baden is transport," Donter said to his wife, casting a warning glance to Bryama to bite her tongue. "If we can get to Port Feregin, I think I can get us offworld."

"Oh?" Briadan looked to him, hope, perhaps, shining behind her green orbs. "An old friend, maybe?"

"Sith don't have friends, per se," Donter said, though he nodded. "But, an old associate who owes me a favor."

Port Feregin was a city on the Atic Sea; as such, it required no constant maintenance to keep the jungle from swallowing it whole.

Some paths in the jungle were genuine. Gaggles of slaves carved them out, day after day, to keep commerce flowing.

"This way, I think," Briadan said, stepping onto a path lined with vines.

Before it happened, Bryama knew of the danger. Was it wicked, then, to keep her mouth shut?

Briadan's screams echoed between the Xekos. "Help me!"

"Love!" Donter howled, and drew his blaster, firing into the heap of brambles and shrubbery lining what had been a trapped path. "Yama, help your mother."

If her father hadn't asked... Now that she knew how to hurt one of the carnivorous trees, it was a simple matter to hurt it. The wound she caused was large enough to see into, metaphorically. It made her realize all things were finite, even long lived Xekos, and therefore, everything was weak at one time or another.

"I was weak," she said, mostly to herself as Donter helped untangle Briadan from the mess of vines. "I can't let that happen again."

If weakness overtook her, she could be used and discarded by sentients, by the Force itself. She would become like Briadan, helpless, hopeless. The thought curled her upper lip away from her teeth.

"What is it, Yama?" Donter asked. She realized he was staring at her.

Quickly, she recovered. Wiping her face clean of emotion was difficult, especially to hide it from her father, but she was getting better of late. "It's nothing," she said.

"Thank you for helping me, Bryama," Briadan said softly. The sheepish look on her face bespoke of her terror.

Fear was the ultimate weakness, Bryama decided. It gave license to others to punish one who feared.

On they went, after finding the true path a few meters ahead.

"I'd better lead from now on," Bryama said, barely giving her mother a second glance. "I wouldn't want us to stumble on another trap." She felt Briadan's pain emanate from her. It gave Bryama a silent snicker.

"Why do you torture your mother, so?" Donter had come up beside her. "You've been upset lately, Yama, talk to me."

"It's nothing, Father," she said. "I sensed Mother wanted to get rid of me, and so I no longer care what she thinks."

"No matter what you think, she still loves you," Donter said. "She's just scared. You might think about that."

"Love. Fear. It's all the same weakness," Bryama replied airily.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Donter shake his head. "I'm sorry you had to discover you can feel the Force, Yama. I think my failure in all this was not telling myself, sooner."

"Well that doesn't help us much now, does it, Father?" Bryama felt hot, not just from the temperature.

"All one can do is their best, Daughter," Donter said, sounding angry himself now.

He fell back a few paces, to walk beside Briadan. They whispered among themselves, but Bryama knew they had to be talking about her. Now that she was becoming less dependent on them, they might need to find a way to get rid of her. She might have to turn the tables on them.

Only then, did she sense his thoughts in her head. _==How did you get in here?==_ she asked in her thoughts.

 _==I'd hoped to avoid this, Yama.==_ Her father sounded tired beyond words, but it was his voice. _==I kept the Sith away from my own connection to the Force. I tried to keep it hidden from everyone. That was why I left the Sith military; they were getting too close.==_

 _==Why tell me this now?==_ Bryama walked casually enough, but inside, she seethed that her father had withheld this gift for so long.

 _==Because I feel great anger from you, Yama. Anger I've never felt before. Search my thoughts; we mean you no harm and hope you can return to the happy spirit you've always been. We shall speak no further on this.==_

Even as their connection broke, Bryama was learning all she could of it. From now on, she would have to be guarded in her thoughts. She turned back toward her parents and smiled. "I'm sorry, to both of you," she said.

Apology was for the weak. The weak were fodder for the strong. Inside, she built walls to keep her father out. At least, out of the part of her mind that made the most sense. Let him think she was still that little girl he thought he raised.

At last, she thought she could see signs of life in the distance. Instead, as she ran forward, it turned into a warning from the Force. Smoke rose solemnly over silent remains. Scorched trees stared through empty hollows at the grisly sight. Twisted, molten durasteel paid ghostly homage to what had been a home.

"Uncle Baden, no!" Briadan ran toward skeletal corpses still fresh with the stink of burned flesh.

There was no way Bryama was getting away from the Sith. Try as they might, every effort would meet with failure. That was just another weakness, and one Bryama would learn how to defeat.

As they gathered up what remains they could for burial, speeders approached. Captain Blel and two squads of soldiers level blasters at Donter and his family.

"What are you doing here?" Bryama snarled.

"Responding to an emergency call," Blel said casually. She eyed the family carefully before holstering her pistol. Her soldiers kept precise aim.

Blel strolled toward the scene of destruction, taking careful note of everything. "Neighbors reported hearing screams," she said as she walked. "They reported a fire last night, and I was dispatched to discover what was burning. I see, now."

"It was a very hot fire, no doubt," Donter said, pointing at the twisted durasteel. "I wonder why it didn't cause more devastation to the surrounding trees. Maybe because it was deliberately set by you?"

"Me?" Blel acted surprised. "I assure you, I had nothing to do with this. And this, dear Major, is a very humid jungle. A fire could burn very hot and still go out quickly."

"Liar!" Bryama screamed.

"Now, now," Blel said calmly. "There's no need to get cross; I'm terribly sorry for this tragic loss for your family, Mrs. Fettfain. But, if you'd reconsider the generous offer made to you by Master Praask, you and your husband might live in peace."

"Can't you just leave us alone?" Briadan was sobbing.

Part of Bryama wanted to hug her mother. She would miss Uncle Baden as well. Another part of her wanted to turn her back on her mother for her weakness. Nil Blel wanted to exploit her mother's weakness. Briadan's fear and sadness would make it all too easy.

If she was fated to be apprenticed to Themtug Praask, then she would learn everything she could from the Quarren. The Force could make her strong enough that no one would ever try to prey on her again.

Lost in thought, she barely heard her father. Donter had marched up, standing hardly farther than nose to nose with Captain Blel. The soldiers took careful aim at him.

"You'll get my daughter over my dead body," he growled into the Sith's face. "Get out of here; we'll bury our dead ourselves."

"So be it," Nil Blel said. As she and the soldiers departed, Bryama wondered whether she referred to Donter's second comment, or his first.


	13. Chapter 13

13

Each earthen wall seemed like the last. Zenaa ran through a connection where four tunnels crossed paths. A sensation that she'd been there before thundered in her ears, made her montrals tingle.

"Why do I feel this way?" She stopped, tried to understand the sensations she felt. If she was going to make it out of the maze, she needed to calm down. Her heart thudded in her chest and her lungs hurt.

Slowly, she made her way back to the connector. Again, it felt very familiar, even though the whole maze looked the same.

"Maybe if I sit," she said and did. When staring down dim corridors began to strain her eyes, she closed them. Instantly, she perceived a faint glow. Her right montral started to throb, gently at first, then more forcefully, though it didn't hurt.

"To the right?" she asked, still not understanding what was happening to her. The faint glow under her closed eyelids began to localize. It morphed toward the right corner of her vision and gradually took on the shape of the tunnel to her right rear.

By now, her breathing and heart had slowed. It was startling when she realized it, and because she realized it, the rhythms picked up once more.

Quickly, she bounded to her feet, eyes now better adjusted to the murky darkness. She followed her – vision? – to the right rear, slowly at first. As she walked, she glanced left, then right. The walls looked the same as the others had. It was impossible to know whether this was the right way.

Still, her montrals both began gently to pulse. The feeling was almost pleasant, reassuring. Then, around a corner the tunnel walls opened up. Since that hadn't happened since she'd been dropped in this hole, she smiled briefly.

Stepping out into an open area, she squealed with joy. Unfortunately, as the echoes bounced off the distant walls, something stirred. The pleasant feeling she'd had suddenly turned dark.

From the shadows at the far edge of the wide space, a large arm with spindly fingers stretched. For its size, the fingers were thin and scraggly, but the Rancor monster to whom they belonged was anything but weak looking.

A soft glow came from above, bathing the open area in a greenish tint. The Rancor howled and lumbered forward into it when it smelled her presence.

Eyes bulging, Zenaa wanted to flee, but her feet felt glued to the dusty ground. When the long, dangerous hand reach to grasp her, however, she tucked her head and rolled out of the way.

Standing, she didn't remember consciously willing her body to do that. Released from her temporary paralysis, however, she bolted for the edge of the tunnel. The Rancor's footsteps thundered closer, and her rear head-tail throbbed violently.

At last, she dove for the safety of the tunnel. A claw thumped against the bottom of her boot, but she rolled forward into a standing position. Sweat ran down her face, stung her eyes. The blood surged through her veins so fast she could feel every molecule.

"So rad," she breathed as the Rancor reared back and roared. "No breakfast for you," Zenaa said happily.

A moment later, her smile drooped. How to get past the beast without satisfying Zumm's sadistic bent. If there really was a way out, as the Hutt had promised, then it had to be past this monstrosity.

Remembering her earlier encounter with strange feelings, she sat down on the dusty floor, closed her eyes. "I don't know what kind of force guided me before," she whispered, "but please help me again."

Nothing. Her thoughts raced. Panic began to seep into the corners of her mind as her empty belly rumbled. Would she die of dehydration or starve first? Would she gladly throw herself to the Rancor to avoid a more prolonged, agonizing death?

"Please," she said, moisture forming at the corner of her eyes. "Someone help me." She wiped tears on her sleeve.

She took in a deep breath, blew it out slowly. Once again, she closed her eyes. It took effort, but she made her lungs stop thirsting for air. Soon, she breathed gently, evenly, like her father had taught her. Instead of getting heated often, as Togruta were known to do, he'd tried to instill a peaceful path within her.

The steadier and calmer her breath came, the easier it seemed to maintain it. Once her breathing was shallow, she began to let go of her jumbled thoughts, taking them one at a time.

At last, the voices were silenced. She could have been the only sentient on Sleheyron. Or in the entire galaxy.

"Show me, please." The voice hardly sounded like hers, nor did she consciously know she'd uttered the phrase.

Soon, her montrals began to tingle. They pulsed in a specific pattern, seeming to form a wave toward the middle left. Eyes shut, she rose and began walking in that direction.

She felt along the wall of the open area. Whatever was happening, it led her forward. She opened her eyes, ever so slightly. Above her, the Rancor towered, its cavernous eyes glazed, its powerful jaw slack. A sudden twinge of fear jolted her at the base of her spine. The Rancor grunted, its eyes darted toward her.

"Peace," she whispered, hardly able to hear the word from her own lips. She was halfway to an opening on the far side of the open area.

The Rancor twitched, growled. Terror gripped Zenaa by the head-tails. She was trembling when the Rancor screeched and lumbered forward.

This time, however, Zenaa's feet didn't fail her. She ran for the opening for all she was worth. The Rancor stretched out its sinewy arm and she tucked and rolled beneath its grasping hand. In another instant, she'd made it to the new opening. It narrowed enough that the frustrated beast couldn't reach her. It raged, scraping at the walls, trying to get hold of its escaped meal.

Zenaa let out one last sigh of elation. This tunnel led to a door. She pounded on it. After a few minutes, a Gamorrean stuck its pig snout up to the little window. It grunted, then turned and grunted to someone she couldn't see.

For a few terrifying moments, she wondered if they would leave her there. But, then she heard chains clanging and latches unhooking. The door swung open.

"Ho, ho, ho." Zumm stood there, armed guards on either side. "You got talent," the slimeball said in his deep bass.

"I aim to please," she said, though she heard her voice tremble.

Zumm's deep belly laugh filled the room. "I still kill you, girl Zenaa. You trouble. Zumm needs no trouble." His thugs aimed their blasters at her.

"What about that race?" Zenaa blurted. "You still got platinum to bet on it; I'll race for you and win."

"Wait," Zumm said to his guards. A flabby arm came up and he scratched three of his chins while he pondered.

"You win the race, you win your life, girl Zenaa," Zumm said. "Never let it be said that Zumm don't want to make some platinum. You stay here, under guard, until race, girl Zenaa. Then, you race."

"You gonna feed me in the meantime?" Zenaa asked, her belly rumbling again. "I can't race if I starve to death first."

"I think we find something for you," Zumm said and slithered away.

"Unless you eat it first," Zenaa whispered after the Hutt-slug disappeared. His henchmen locked the door after him. While it wasn't a cell exactly, the only way out she could find would have been with the Rancor.

Zumm's thugs did feed her and give her some water. It wasn't much, but it kept her alive and hungry.

On the day of the race, they took her out to the track. Bright sunshine made her blink; she'd been underground for more than a week. As they led her to her pod, she caught a glimpse of her father in the crowd. He must have been worried sick. She felt bad for that.

With quick reflexes, she maneuvered her pod through the pack. Zumm's pod was fast, maybe a little too fast. She wouldn't put it past the slug to cheat in his own race. Still, the way she could sometimes anticipate the other drivers' movements came in handy, while it frightened her a little at the same time.

At last, she had her sights set on Sekad, a Dug who was considered by some to be unbeatable. As she approached his pod, he cut his accelerator and she nearly bumped into him. When he was alongside, he glanced over, confident gleam in his eye.

Before she could slam her accelerator, after a tight turn, he fired a sonic pistol at her power coupling. Sonic waves temporarily neutralized the connection between her engines. One split off from the other and Sekad darted forward, crossing the finish line.

Zenaa, however, had more trouble than coming in second. The disruption caused her pod to crash into a group of stands. Race fans leaped for cover and Zenaa was thrown clear of her pod. Fortunately, not many people were in those stands, and no one was hurt.

Zenaa tumbled and rolled. She received a few bumps and bruises, but dusted herself off and found no broken bones.

"I'll kill that _slemo_!" she roared and ran toward Sekad. However, the Dug and his cohorts all had blasters at their hips. Zumm's thugs also kept Zenaa at bay.

"What you care, Togruta," Sekad said. "You come in second. That good result." His grin was cocky.

More than anything, Zenaa wanted to bash in his elongated skull with something heavy. She caught sight of a spanner, resting on the tool chest of Sekad's crew. If her eyes could have wrapped around it somehow...

Then, she gaped as the tool lifted from its resting place, flew through the air. The Dug grunted and dropped limply forward as the spanner careened off the back of his empty skull.

"What the _kriff_?" Zenaa said in unison with one of the Dug's friends. Other people said equally pungent phrases, all amounting to the same thing.

Nivva, the Toydarian flapped up a moment later. "That was-a the Force," she said. "Somebody here's got-a the Force."

"What 'force'?" Zenaa had lived eleven years, but had never heard of the Force.

"Was that-a you, did that?" Nivva asked, one furry eyebrow raised. She scratched her hairy chin in contemplation.

Soon, Radee hurried up, scooping up his daughter in a great hug. "I was so worried about you," he whispered in her ear.

Nivva fluttered over to him. "Why didn't you tell-a me, your daughter commands-a the Force? We can make so much-a money together, eh?"

"My daughter doesn't have the Force," Radee said quickly. "She's just an extraordinary girl on her own. It's got nothing to do with the Force."

"What's the Force, Dad?" By now, Zenaa had picked up on the fact that it was a thing, not just a word.

"It's nothing, Spaceangel," he said.

Zumm had slithered up while she'd been engaged. His laugh drew everyone's attention. Zenaa hid behind her father, grasping at his robes, hoping he could somehow keep Zumm from killing her.

"It's all right, girl Zenaa," Zumm said and laughed again. "You don't win race, but you make me a lot of money."

"Only happy to oblige." Would he hear the sarcasm drip from her words? Down deep from his belly, the merriment he expressed gave her that answer.

"You gain your life, girl Zenaa," Zumm said, turning to leave. "Pray you never make my notice again." Before he slithered away, he tossed something over his shoulder to Radee. It was a small pouch.

Curious, Zenaa stuck her nose close to it as Radee opened it. Several platinum coins jingled inside. Each one was worth a thousand copper coins. Father and daughter gaped at each other. Radee quickly tucked the purse into his pocket. It wasn't enough for them to purchase their freedom, but it brought them years closer.

When they got home, Zenaa helped him find a hiding place for their money. Then, he turned to her, a stern but kindly look on his face. "Please, Spaceangel, try not to move things in public like that again."

"What is the Force, Dad?" she asked. "Nivva said I had it."

Nodding his head slowly, Radee sat in his favorite chair, beckoning her to sit on his lap. When she did, he grunted. "You're getting too heavy for that," he said around a chuckle. Then, he turned serious. "Years ago, about twelve, in fact, a visitor came to Sleheyron. She was tall, her hair was scarlet, eyes deepest blue..."

"All right, I get it, Dad," Zenaa said. Her own eyes were blue. "She was a human?"

"Yes," Radee said. "A Jedi, she claimed. On a mission. She'd crashed on Sleheyron, but survived. I was out salvaging and she was in trouble."

"What's a Jedi?" Zenaa asked.

"Warriors of ancient times," Radee said. "They could move objects with their minds, and they carried laser swords. They helped right wrongs in the galaxy.

"At any rate, in my own, clumsy way, I helped distract the thugs and beasts who had set upon her while she was dazed from the crash. She killed them, but not without being wounded.

"I took her home, not here, I lived with my parents at the time." Radee was only about fifteen years older than his daughter, which of course was more than a lifetime to Zenaa.

"I helped her get better." Radee stared at the wall and Zenaa realized he was really gazing twelve years in the past. "Helped her find transport offworld."

"And?" Zenaa asked, unable to connect the dots.

"Just over eleven years ago, after she'd departed, someone left a basket on our doorstep." Now, he smiled widely and she noticed a tear in his eye. It rolled down his cheek. "Inside the basket was a baby girl with bright blue eyes."

At last, Zenaa's orbs bulged. "Me?" she asked. "I'm half human?" It was, or would have been, disgusting. If Wibiv or another of her 'friends' would have called her half human, she would have fought.

"I can't imagine you being anything but who you are, Spaceangel," Radee said, and kissed her forehead.

"Wait, that's why you call me that, isn't it?" Suddenly, many things began to make sense. "Even though I've never been offworld before."

"Though you're a Togruta, you still remind me of her," Radee said.

" _Shavit_ ," she swore without apology, receiving a slight scowl from her father. "You _have_ to teach me about the Force."

Radee's head fell forward. "I don't know how, Zenaa," he said sadly. "I'd hoped you might never develop it. Obviously, Zarnee didn't think you would."

"Was that my mother's name?" she asked, her voice ghostly.

"Yes," Radee said, that faraway look back in his eye. Quickly, he shook it away and fixed on her. "Promise me you'll try not to do anything like that again. At least, not in public. People around here would try to exploit your gift."

"I promise I'll try, Dad," she said. She knew he was right, too. So long as she didn't know how to control the Force, she would live up to her promise. But at least now, she had some idea about herself. She would have to practice her gift. Maybe, one day, if she could learn it well enough, she might be able to right some wrongs on Sleheyron.


End file.
